Starlight: the Needle and the Sword
by brigitte51
Summary: According to the Silmarillion, Fingon was married and was the father of Gil-Galad. So here's the story, or at least my take on it. From the early years of the Exile till the end of the 1st Age. Maedhros will pop in from time to time as well as other characters. I've added Gil-Galad as one of the 'main' characters (from chapter 16). And it's now complete!
1. Chapter 1

I took advantage of the editorial mistake in The Silmarillion and assumed Fingon had a wife and a son :) Please excuse the lame title, I am not particulary good at choosing titles... Hope you'll enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it^^

And all credit goes to Tolkien, even my "OCs" owe him 90% of their lives.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Maitimo was resting on a bench, his back laid against the bare stone wall. He had not said a word since he had came in and merely looked at the mason, Carmo, and his nephew, Ristion, who were both sitting at a large wooden table, on which lied several parchment pieces. They were studying these carefully, sometimes adding a note here, a line there, and they were so immersed in their work, they had barely uttered a word or two since noon. Their workshop was always a quiet place to be at in the afternoon, as most of their workers were out busying themselves at the walls and they would not be returning before sunset. Then again, only a few of them would come back to report matters worth being pointed out. On most days, Carmo and Ristion would only spend mornings at the construction site and if no specific works required their supervision, they would devote their time left to draw plans. And for that they needed not much talk, and it was this busy yet peaceful atmosphere Maitimo sought in their presence.

Usually, Carmo's daughter, Ilmië, would also join them and sit in a corner, near the fireplace, where she would embroider. She was as silent and focused as her father and cousin. She would also keep an eye on Maitimo, although she was always careful not to be too obvious about it and would only glance at him once in a while, when she knew he was completely wrapped in his mind and unaware of his surroundings. The healers had asked her to check on him, as they were still reluctant to let him wander around the fortress, but dared not forbid him to do so. Fortunately, Maitimo had not yet any interest in going much more farther than the gardens (those were hardly completed for the time being) and the mason's workshop. He had known Carmo, back in Valinor, and felt at ease around him and his family, mostly because they didn't seem to be paying him much attention. Maitimo loved being so anonymous among them, he thought he also needed such calm to heal properly.

Like many others, Ilmië had been shocked when she had first seen Maitimo after he was rescued from the Thangorodrim by Findekáno. Their time had been short in Beleriand and Noldor were not yet accustomed to the atrocities Morgoth could come up with, if such thing was even possible. No prisoner had ever come back from Angband and no one had been seen that had survived the atrocious tortures Morgoth inflicted on Elves. Three months had passed and Maitimo was recovering fast, very fast, for he was a son of Fëanor and a flame burned in his eyes that the darkest schemes of the Enemy would never quench. But still laid on his handsome face a shadow, and on his shoulders weighted heavy burdens he might never be able to overcome. Ilmië could tell his body would regain all of its initial strength, if not more, and she could also tell his left hand would swing swords with as much might as his right hand had had. However, whenever she would lay her eyes on him, she felt a tinge of pity for Maitimo and it pained her. She would never admit one of the greatest Noldorin Lord inspired her such a pathetic feeling.

When twilight neared, Maitimo slowly left the workshop, after having quietly nodded to Carmo, Ristion and Ilmië. The latter soon followed him as she had promised some of the ladies she would spend the evening in their company - they had insisted she was the most skilled seamstress among them. It was true, Ilmië, daughter of Lanyë, the Weaver, was renowned for her fast and dexterous fingers and it was said she could turn any well-worn piece of fabric into an embroidered marvel. This reputation had not been of much use during their terrible journey over the ice of Helcaraxë, nor on the battlefield, but now that the Noldor were settling in Hithlum, trivial details of domestic life became part of everyday's worries again and the ladies set to embellish the newly built halls of Barad Eithel. They had a lot of work ahead of them, in a way as much as her father's workers, and Ilmië was lost in thoughts of thread and needles. She did not feel him coming and she could not possibly have heard him for his steps were swift and light.

\- Lady Ilmië, if you would be so kind as to allow me some of your time, I would like to have a word with you.

The prince Findekáno had gracefully bowed and he was now standing still, a gentle light shining in his grey eyes.

\- Of course, my Lord, she replied quickly, deeply bowing herself.

He motioned towards a nearby balcony to where he followed Ilmië. For a moment, Findekáno gazed at the sky and then he said :

\- Lately, my dear cousin Maitimo has been spending most of his afternoons in your father's workshop.

\- Indeed, it seems that Lord Maitimo has taken a liking in masonry.

\- I do not doubt that Lord Carmo's craft is highly interesting, but I'm afraid this is not what I wish to discuss with you. I ...

He paused for a while.

\- Lady Ilmië, what are your thoughts on my cousin?

It was a rather direct and unexpected question and Ilmië who, unlike most Noldor, was not so fast to speak her mind was caught off guard.

\- My lord, I am not sure I understand the meaning of your question.

Findekáno smiled briefly.

\- Excuse me, it was perhaps too hasty of me. I meant to inquire about your opinion on my cousin's recovery, since you have been spending quite some time with him over the last weeks. The healers told me they asked you to keep an eye on him while he is at your father's workshop, and I can only assume you fulfilled this task dutifully.

Ilmië remained silent for a while. She needed to sort out her thoughts on the matter as she knew the Prince was not worried about his cousin's physical recovery, but that he was asking her about his mental state. While his brothers and his best friend stayed by his side and did all they could to help him, Maitimo only seemed to try escape them.

\- What can I say, my lord? she sighed. Lord Maitimo's soul is but a great fire, his... his captivity hasn't affected that.

She fell silent again, and said :

\- He will soon fight with even a greater will than before.

Ilmië could not tell further. She would not say a word about this pity the sight of Maitimo stirred in her. She would not say a word about the Oath. She would not say a word about the kinslaying. The boats that were burned down. The ice. Findekáno knew better than her what doom had befallen on his cousin and on all of them.

\- I thank you, lady Ilmië. Your words ease me.

Nonetheless, she could see great worry overshadowing Findekáno's eyes and yet again pity filled her heart. They parted, exchanging a few courteous words, and Ilmië remained alone for a while, on the balcony. She would soon hurry to the other ladies, who were waiting for her, but she first had to regain control of her feelings. She breathed deeply and the fresh evening air soothed her. She reminded that day so well, even though it had happened a long time ago, well before the darkness.

* * *

Back in Valinor, Ilmië's father, Lord Carmo, had worked in a few different places. Having wed a Vanya lady, he spent some time in her people's city on Taniquetil, but he had also taken part in the great constructions that occurred in Alqualondë. In addition, Lord Carmo had lived a while in Formenos, even though his loyalty laid in the house of Nolofinwë, for King Finwë himself had required his services there. His wife and his young daughters had often followed him and dwelled in many houses and halls, and Lord Carmo had thus formed close ties of friendship with many Elven lords. Some years before Morgoth was released by the Valar, Lord Carmo had settled for good in Tirion, or so he thought, and his daughters had the opportunity to make a great deal of new acquaintances among the most respected lords and ladies of the Noldor. And during one of those great feasts held by the house of Nolofinwë, Lord Carmo's eldest daughter, Ilmië, had had the chance to be formally introduced to the sons and daughter of prince Nolofinwë.

It probably wasn't the first time Ilmië saw Findekáno, but never before had she been allowed to look at him this close. He was radiant that day, tall and strong, his dark long plaits braided with gold were twinkling in the light of Laurelin, and his grey eyes shone like stars, full of wisdom and kindness. Ilmië had seen her fair share of splendid Elves, she had laid her eyes on some of the greatest beings in Valinor, and yet her heart had not known such a powerful turmoil before she met Findekáno on that day. Afterwards, she had barely danced or sung and she had ignored the pleads of the other ladies who would have her join their games. She had been pleased enough to gaze at him, however far he stood from her, and secretly she had vowed to she would wed no one but an Elf noble enough as to match prince Findekáno. And as long as she lived in the eternal bliss of Valinor, Ilmië had often taken great pleasure in catching a glimpse of the Prince and, being satisfied this way, never looked for more. But then, back in those days, happiness had always been at hand.

* * *

She was surprised her feelings had resurfaced so fast, so easily. Ilmië had thought the sadness that caused her eyes to fill with tears whenever the beautiful faces of her mother and sister came to her mind left no room for any other emotion. They had stayed in Valinor and, in all honesty, Ilmië was convinced their paths would not cross again. She had chosen to follow her father, for she could not bear to think of how lonely and miserable his life would be if none of his "three dearest treasures" was to be by his side. And so Ilmië had figured her new role in Beleriand to be that of a devoted daughter and she was glad the only Elf that possibly could divert her from duty was Findekáno. She wouldn't have many opportunities to meet him, even less to talk with him privately. They both had their own business to take care of.

* * *

For names, I decided to use their Quenya names (I must admit I live Quenya more) and will only use their Sindarin names when Sindarin characters will come up. Ilmië comes from "Ilma" - "Starlight", Carmo "Car" - "to build", Ristion "son of the cutter, cleaver" from "Rista" - "to cut, cleave" and Lanyë "Lanya" - "to weave". I gave them pretty straightforward/short names, I thought it'd suit them better than longer/complicated names.

Also, although I didn't really state it, Ilmië and her family are of noble blood, I picture them being part of some great house like those 12 houses of Gondolin. So they're far from being commoners, but the eldest son of the High King is still a long shot (as in, it wouldn't be a scandal if they get married, but it's difficult to get his attention in the first place).


	2. Chapter 1-2

When I started this fic, I thought I'd be done by the 15th chapter (and obviously it's not happening), and so I rushed the story, or at least I was eager to be done with its beginning. But looking back at it, I feel it could do with some more details. So here's the first 'bonus'.

* * *

\- Last time we met in the West, it was in Formenos, was it not?

\- It was, indeed.

\- It seems it was in another life, and perhaps it really was... My looks are less appealing than they used to be, are they not? he said with a dry laugh.

There was nothing Ilmië could answer to that. His years of torture had dreadfully affected his appearance: scars of all sorts covered his skin with red and white streaks, his left hand bore traces of huge blisters and calluses, deforming his fingers, and his hair had thinned and lost its shine - from a luxuriant auburn its color had turned into a mousy brown. And his eyes... his gaze gave away but a glimpse of his inner torment, whose real depth only he would ever know the extent of. Ilmië was almost a complete foreigner to him. She could not pretend to understand what he had gone through, and what he was still haunted by, and so she deemed proper to keep silent.

\- I have made you uncomfortable, I beg your pardon, Maitimo said.

\- There is no need to.

Yet she was staring at her hands and would have felt much relieved if she could have taken her needles and thread out of her pockets. Usually her father and her cousin would have been there as well, and lord Carmo would have taken care of the small talk, for he did that with ease. But they were away for a few days, and Ilmië had never suspected Maitimo would show up in their absence, thinking he only liked coming there when her father was present. And there she was, stuck, not daring to leave him alone in the empty workshop.

\- Your father is generous to tolerate my presence here... Not many are willing to forget the burned ships and the ice...

\- He did not forget, but he knows you took no part in that terrible deed. Lord Findekáno has pleaded for you and he has told my father the story in great details.

Besides lord Carmo had deemed years of imprisonment in Angband could atone for much, but that, she did not tell lord Maitimo. She would have rather avoided mentioning the Iron Fortress in front of him.

\- Poor Findekáno, whispered Maitimo. I am nothing but a burden to him, yet all day long he bustles about helping me... He tries his best to mend fences between our two families, and I fear he will only regret doing it in the end... Have we not committed too many crimes already? Aqualondë, these burned ships and our Oath will pursue us forever, and even Findekáno the valiant, as steadfast and as brave as he may be, can not hope to defeat such forces...

His voice had gone lower and lower and Ilmië thought he had simply forgotten she sat next to him. An awkward silence took place between them, or at least it was how Ilmië felt it, for where Maitimo's mind could be wandering, she had no idea. She reckoned he was right about Findekáno though. Ilmië had noticed the Prince had displayed a keen interest to her father's projects since Maitimo had taken the habit of spending his afternoons in lord Carmo's worshop. His visits had become frequent, however it was plain he meant to reach to his cousin, and most of the time he failed at it. He had tried to make some observations about the mason's plans, then had sung a few working songs to lighten the mood around him, and as a last resort he had even tried to jest - an incident everyone had soon pretended to forget about. But nothing had stirred Maitimo from his torpor and it was painful for Ilmië to be a powerless witness of Findekáno's distress, for obviously he did not know anymore how to act around his cousin.

\- Why did you come in Beleriand, lady Ilmië? suddenly asked Maitimo. Would you not have been happier in Aman, dwelling with your mother's kin on the Taniquetil?

The question chased away some of her uneasiness. That at least she could answer to.

\- Righteous indignation, at first, she said. Like many I was moved by your lord father's words, and longed for some freedom, or what I figured freedom was. But ultimately I have to admit that all I did was to follow my own father.

\- Then we might have a few things in common, you and I.

Again Ilmië did not know what to say and she wondered if it would be impolite to resume the needlework she had put aside earlier, for her fingers tickled with restlessness. Hopefully, at that very moment, the workshop's doors flew open and Findekáno stepped in, expecting to find lord Carmo and Ristion devising plans over their large stoned table. He was quite startled to see Ilmië - hands nicely folded on her lap, that was unusual - and Maitimo, grim as ever, sitting next to each other on a bench.

\- Lord Findekáno, blurted Ilmië, standing up at once.

As glad as she was to see him, she mainly hoped to take this opportunity to leave and was already gathering her belongings.

\- I did not mean to disrupt you, my Lady, said Findekáno nodding his head courtly. I thought I would pay your father a visit, yet I find he must have gone on some errand.

\- He is away, for he wished to survey a new quarry, up in the mountains, explained Ilmië. He should be back within a few days though.

\- Is that so?

Findekáno was eyeing Maitimo, with a sorrowful expression, and Ilmië felt there was no space left in the workshop for her.

\- I'm afraid I have duties of my own to fulfill, my Lord, said Ilmië, slowly reaching for the doors.

\- Of course, lady Ilmië, you are free to go.

She glanced at Maitimo, hesitating, but he raised his head.

\- I am sorry I have been a rather gloomy companion today, my Lady.

\- Fear not, my Lord, there is room for improvement on my part as well , she said, and she left, after having swiftly curtsied.

Findekáno watched her exit the workshop, admiring the Sun's golden glints shimmering in her long wavy hair. For a moment, he tried to recall if he had ever met her on a day that was not rainy - it rained very often in Hithlum indeed - and wondered if such an encounter had taken place in Valinor.

\- She has a good heart, said Maitimo. She overlooks my ghostly appearance, and conceals quite well her discomfort when my thoughts strand and my words do not make any sense...

\- Would she be the reason you keep coming here?

\- Why, no, protested Maitimo. You are sweet to think there is room left for romance in my heart, though. Yet I don't come here for the pleasure of chitchat, it is rather because they do not pay much attention to me. Father and daughter are alike, cool and collected, and the cousin bears a heavy grudge against me, and so he pretends to forget I even exist.

Findekáno let out a heavy sigh.

\- Should I too leave you alone then? he breathed. Is this your wish?

\- No, stay please, said Maitimo, patting the empty space next to him, on the bench. I cannot guarantee my speech will be of much interest, but I will try my best, for you.

And for the first time since they both had reached Beleriand, the two cousins, and best friends, stayed together for a few hours, talking without any discomfort like they used to long before, and Findekáno finally felt Maitimo would soon be able to open his heart again. He knew for sure the day would come his body would heal almost completely and his copper hair would shine again. His dear Russandol would emerge from darkness and come back to him, at last.

* * *

It was during the evening that followed that Findekáno remembered where he had seen first Ilmië's golden hair shimmer. Back then, it had not been due to the warm surnrays, but to the mystical light of Laurelin, for it was in Tirion, in his father's tower to be precise, that they had been acquainted to one another - although he had not thought about it in years. Darkness had washed away much of his happy memories and the festivities during which he had been introduced to Lord Carmo's daughters had been part of that lot. Yet now that Findekáno considered it, he realized he could recall quite a deal about this rather eventless day.

As usual, he had met many guests, old or new, and if the crowd had been a fine one, he had kept close to his siblings and his cousins. Findekáno loved singing and dancing, yet he rarely mingled among others when they were too numerous, and he simply enjoyed watching the feast going on. He also barely had to be proactive when it came to worldliness for, as one of the princes, he was typically the one been sought after. And in Ilmië's case, that was how it had taken place, some castellan had deemed proper to introduce lord Carmo's daughters to the sons and daughters of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë and it had happened in a very formal way.

Ilmië had been there with her sister - whose name Findekáno could not recall - and it had not been long before someone had remarked that they dwelled in Tirion since not long, despite their father being a Noldo. Someone else - it might have been Angaráto or Aikanáro - had mentioned lord Carmo had done great work in Alqualondë when the harbord had been built and it was discovered that the two sisters knew well the speech of the Teleri, a detail Artanaris had found delightful. At that point, Findekáno had understood these maidens' father was one of the most admired mason of their folk, an Elf who had taken an important part in the construction of the very tower they were standing in.

\- Am I correct to assume you are back from Formenos? he had asked Ilmië.

\- Yes, our father has just received the King's leave to reside in Tirion, she had answered, smiling.

It was the only full sentence he had heard her pronounced - her sister had taken charge of most of the talk indeed. Ilmië had limited herself to proper greeting and inquiries and she had not been especially eager to learn more about her hosts. However she had not looked bored or indifferent, her sparkly eyes had been wide opened and alert, and she had laughed and smiled along everyone - simply, she had been shy.

After them being acquainted, Findekáno had not exchanged a single word with her that day, yet he had not quite forgotten her despite all the tragic events that had followed, and only now was he realizing why she had stuck in his memory all along. In his father's tower, in white Tirion, under the golden light of Laurelin, Ilmië had shone. Whenever he had gazed upon the large crowd of guests, his eyes had found her at once and, unconsciously, he had kept track of her till she had finally left the feast. He had not given this much thought since then, but the same phenomenon seemed to be taking place in Barad Eithel. He always spotted her first out of everyone else and often he felt it was pleasant to gaze at her.

* * *

I guess that their father being a mason, the family went around Valinor, wherever he built stuff, but in the end their mother being a Vanya she could not have been so happy in Formenos, so they finally settled in Tirion. It's a detail, but I imagine lord Carmo as being very devoted to Finwë somehow.


	3. Chapter 2

missiongirl87 : thank you for your review^^ I also think that straight line Fingolgin - Fingon - Gil-Galad seems quite fine (High Kings all the way). And he was called Scion of Kings..

Quantumphysica : thank you for the review! Although I'm afraid the story might disappoint you, since I won't say much more about Maedhros' recovery. But I do plan to have him being part of the story all along, he's a very interesting character. And I don't think I could write a fic about him, that'd be too sad T.T so I'll put (almost) everything I have to say about him in there!

 **Quenyan names** : Írissë is Aredhel, Tyelkormo is Celegorm, Curufinwë is Curufin and Macalaurë, Maglor.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Ristion laughed when one of the Sindarin ladies placed a flower garland on his head. From delicate silvery petals glowed a soft light and its shine reverberated on the Noldo dark brown hair. He looked very handsome, very noble on that night, as for once he needed not bend over some table to check plans, or over some stone he had to carve, but could instead spread the full span of his great height. And this seemed to please a group of ladies who had come all the way from Falas, and they were taking turns to dance with him, chuckling as they did so. Around them the celebrations were going in full swing, Elves from all over Beleriand had gathered for the Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting.

Ilmië was sitting under one of the vast marquees that were set up in anticipation of the feasts. She had herself danced a lot already, carried away with a joy she had not experienced since her departure from Valinor, and it was with equal delight that she was now watching her cousin having fun with the maidens.

\- Lord Ristion seems to be enjoying the company of our new friends.

The princess Írissë had taken a seat next to Ilmië, holding a cup of miruvor in her hands.

\- Truth be told, I haven't seen him laugh so heartily for years, said Ilmië, smiling.

\- You danced a lot yourself, Ilmië. Or should I say Giliel, as they call you.

\- And you too. Aredhel.

They giggled softly. Ilmië loved Írissë dearly and she admired her a lot. The two ladies had very different personalities, Ilmië being much more quiet and thoughtful - one could easily describe her as being a bit slow at times - than the princess who was adventurous, sometimes restless, and who loved to ride with her Fëanorian cousins. But Ilmië was like still water and her serene aspect hid a strong will not unlike the princess's. This could be glimpsed in her eyes, her pale sparkling eyes, which had earned her her mother-name : Ilmië, the Starlight. Írissë had seen it and cherished it, and so she would often seek Ilmië to keep her company when she wasn't out and about in forests.

\- The night is young, there is plenty of time left for us to be entertained, said Írissë, taking a sip of Miruvor. I daresay I might even convince my father to sing some songs of old before dawn breaks.

\- And didn't you say you wanted to go on ride with your cousins?

\- Yes, I couldn't miss such a good opportunity. They say the woods surrounding Eithel Ivrin are among the finest in Beleriand. And I soon will live even farther from them, she added as she wrapped her arm around Ilmië's.

\- So you will settle with lord Turukáno in Vinyamar?

\- Yes, I will stay by my brother's side, on the Great Sea shore, said Írissë, with a small smile. But I shall come visit you often, after all my father and my elder brother will yearn for my presence. Am I not everyone's favorite in this royal family?

The two maidens giggled again, for parting time seemed quite far away on that night, and their laugh was interrupted by a request formulated by a deep familiar voice.

\- My dear Írissë, would you allow me to borrow your friend, for a few dances? If lady Ilmië will, of course, comply to my demand.

Maitimo was standing in front of them, smiling. Ilmië had not met him since the sons of Fëanor had left Hithlum to settle in the eastern lands of Beleriand. She remembered he had gotten better, and his visits to her father's workshop had been less frequent as he had gradually started spending more time with his relatives. However, last time she had seen him, when he had departed from Barad Eithil, there was still a shadow lingering on his face and something in Findekáno's eyes had been immensly sad. But all of this seemed now far behind, and Ilmië was glad to note barely none of the marks of Maitimo's terrible captivity were still visible. His copper hair had grown long and silky and the celebration's cheerfulness softened the fire burning in his dark eyes. He held his head high and force was to admit he still bore well his mother-name : despite his mutilation he deserved more than ever to be called Maitimo, "The well-shaped". In that moment, Ilmië hoped she would never have to feel any pity for him again, like she had, at times, during his long recovery.

\- It would be a great pleasure, my lord, she said, as she rose and bowed.

He extended his arm towards her and she took with great pride.

\- Then I shall go look for your brothers, dear cousin, said Írissë leaping joyfully from her chair.

She disappeared through the crowd of dancers, her white dress floating at her feet, while Maitimo cast an uncertain look at Ilmië.

\- I'm afraid dancing with me will require a greater effort from your part, my Lady. I apologize for it.

\- You need not, my Lord, she replied. You are still more graceful than half this noble assembly and I include myself in the clumsy lot.

They both chuckled.

\- Ilmië, were you the clumsiest Elf in Arda, I would still be thankful you are dancing with me tonight.

His smile was warm, but Maitimo was not flirting, he was only being sincere. She understood and nodded. The Sindarin ladies were too shy to approach him, some of the Noldorin ones also did not wish to mingle with the house of Fëanor and, well, he was missing his right hand. However Ilmië had not exagerated when praising him, Maitimo was as elegant as ever.

\- Next time Írissë stays in our lands, you are more than welcome to join her, he said. I would also be honored to have your father and cousin as my guests.

\- Thank your for the invitation, my Lord. I have the feeling she will drag me there anyways, whether I like or not.

\- Probably, laughed Maitimo. So, shall we dance?

And then they twirled and swayed, around them revolved Írissë, Curufinwë, Tyelkormo, and Ristion and his newfound admirers. It was a truly marvelous sight, such as what King Nolofinwë had hoped for when he had announced the Mereth Aderthad.

* * *

The water of Eithel Ivrin reflected the silver light of the Moon and many Elves had gathered around it, enjoying the fresh air and the gentle sound of the spring. Ilmië sat on one edge, her feet dipping in the cool water. Ulmo's power was strong in this land, strong enough to heal the tired limbs of maiden Elf who perhaps had danced a bit too much. It was the kind of tiredness she handled well for it had been caused by an excess of enthusiasm, an illness that would only strike on great occasions, when she really was happy. And now, on the banks of the Eithel Ivrin, she was recovering peacefully. Soft Sindarin voices could be heard, and their singing was a pure bliss to the ears, and for her eyes' delight, prince Findekáno was sitting not far from her, among a group of lords and ladies she knew not. He looked grander than ever and Ilmië for once felt relieved her face could remain so impassive. For inside her a storm rose, one even Ulmo would not be able to soothe.

The Elves he was with seemed to be, for most part, Laiquendi who were clad in green, speaking in low voices. For a while Findekáno listened to their speeches, but since he wasn't very familiar with their dialect it required great deal of concentration for him to understand them. Eventually he rose, bidding them a good night, and he quickly looked around the pool. A glimmer caught his attention, he had just seen Ilmië, a pretty figure enhanced by blonde hair inherited from her Vanya mother. She saw him coming to her, a gentle smile on his lips. And although Ilmië was not aware of it - she would've been mortified if she had suspected the truth - at that moment her eyes gleamed brightly, like two shooting stars bursting to life in the summer sky.

\- Lady Ilmië, I hope the night has been a pleasant one for you so far, he said, as he settled in front of her.

His slender fingers played with the clear water of Eithel Ivrin, wrinkling its surface.

\- Indeed, it has been but filled with pleasures, my Lord.

\- I saw you dancing with my dear cousin Maitimo earlier. I wish I could have joined in but, alas, I spent most of my time by my father's side assisting him in welcoming the lords and ladies who have come from all of Beleriand to greet him.

He paused, watching drops of water rolled down his hand.

\- I also saw your father Lord Carmo, he was in great discussion with Lord Círdan, and my father must have joined them as it is.

Ilmië laughed. During dinner, she had completely lost her father's attention as soon as he had been acquainted with the lord of the Falas.

\- It should come as no surprise that a mason and a shipwright have much to say to each her.

She couldn't help but stare at Findekáno whose intricate plaits were looking especially smooth and whose forehead was adorned with a golden circlet.

\- This celebration is absolutely wonderful, she added. It is a fair crowd our King has assembled.

\- It is, indeed, he said as his eyes strayed on her.

They fell silent for a few minutes, but it wasn't because they ran out of things to say. It felt natural to them to sit close to each other, next to the water, under the starry sky. They would've made that moment last even longer, but the festivities were still going on and suddenly caught up with them. Merrily bursting out of nowhere, Maitimo, his brother Macalaurë, Ristion and two Sindarin ladies took place with Ilmië and Findekáno, and they brought along the feast's sweet perfumes on their clothes.

\- Here's one for you, my sweet Ilmië, said Ristion as he put a flower garland on her head. Silver for me, and white for you. It suits well your golden hair, doesn't it?

\- Very well! she laughed. Should everyone wear one or is it just you and me?

She quickly glanced at Findekáno : the prince's grey eyes were still on her, but his expression was unreadable.

\- Nay, cousin, let's be king and queen of our own flower kingdom.

Ristion's good mood was contagious and their little group debated of how bees would be regarded in a flower kingdom, as they were responsible for pollination and therefore essential to the growth of such a realm. Finally it was decided that flowers should pray to bees in order to express their gratitude, and also that honey should never be wasted, for there was nothing sweeter to the tongue. After all those very serious talks, the Sindarin ladies, whose names were Círneth and Aglarwen, begged Macalaurë to sing them one his composition for their people held in high regard such a clear voice as his. And so quietly the hours passed by as Macalaurë sang of the Moon, the Sun, the Mountains and the Rivers, and many other wonders, till it was time for all to get some well deserved rest.

* * *

East, the night sky slowly faded, a pale blue tinged with fresh pink was overwhelming darkness and erasing the stars one by one. Lord Carmo and Lord Círdan had not yet run out of topics to discuss and other fine Elves had joined them to share their own lore in what had become an unexpected knowledge symposium. King Nolofinwë presided and he had himself much to say about craft, especially the sword making. The dancers and singers were now seeking some rest, Ilmië and Ristion were fast asleep in their tent. Írissë, Curufinwë and Tyelkormo went on a ride, escaping weariness on their swift horses. And Findekáno was watching the sky color change, thinking of the dazzling stars he had seen in Ilmië's eyes.

* * *

So far, we ended up seeing more of Maedhros than Fingon? Oh well, let's enjoy it while they're still happy. Also, I realized I have a rather Austenian view of High Elves society, in my head it seems to fit ^^;;;


	4. Chapter 3

I do not know if the title "Grand Squire" is appropriate, but it had a nice ring to it, more than "Stabble Master" or "Horse Master". I actually don't know how the person in charge of horses would be called in that case.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Ilmië was heading to the stables where she had been summoned by the Grand Squire, wondering what kind of business required her presence there. Since Írissë had left for Vinyamar, she did not go very often horse riding and her father was taking care of all details related to horses when they had to travel. Perhaps he was too busy these days and had asked that his daughter took charge of some specific problem?

\- Lady Ilmië, it is a pleasure to meet you, greeted the Grand Squire. I am sorry I had to call upon you in such short notice, but the Prince wished to meet you personally and he is quite busy as is to be expected.

\- The Prince? she repeated, slightly taken aback.

\- Lord Findekáno is supervising some of the new herds sent by Lord Maitimo. It is a great addition to our breeding, but we will need to build more paddocks for this lot is a fiery one! Fortunately the Ard-Galen is vast and prosperous, we shall not run out of space any time soon.

\- Then, do you need any of my services to help tend those new horses? asked Ilmië, following the Grand Squire who was heading to a small pasture next to the stabbles. I'm afraid there is not much I could do to...

\- No, my Lady, I would not dare ask you anything of that sort, he said, laughing. No, we only wanted to show you gifts that were sent to you.

Ilmië was puzzled and it did not happen to her often, which seems to make her even more confused. She did not recall having lately accomplished any deeds that would make her deserve gifts. Besides what would Findekáno have to do with it? Maybe one of the ladies could be giving her some ornaments, or a dress specially designed for her, but those items were unlikely to be found at the stables or anywhere around it. There were only horses, dozen and dozen of them, beautiful beasts whose coats shined under the sun. Even at first glance, it was easy to tell these had been bred by Fëanor's sons, as they were taller, stronger and more impetuous than all of the other Noldorin horses. They were the descendants of horses brought from Valinor, on ships, and their breed surpassed by far any that could be found in Beleriand.

\- They are magnificent, muttered Ilmië.

\- Indeed, it is a great favor Lord Maitimo has done us, said the Grand Squire.

A few Elves busied themselves in the paddock sorting out horses, checking their eyes, teeth and hooves, making sure foals sticked by their mothers. The Grand Squire gave them a few orders and next to him, leaning on the fence, Ilmië still had no clue as to why she had been summoned there.

\- I hope you are enjoying the view, Lady Ilmië, said a voice coming from behind her.

She turned around and came face to face with Findekáno. He wore plain clothes, his hair was braided in a much simpler fashion than usual, but in Ilmië's eyes he shone ever brightly.

\- My Lord, it seems no one has told Lady Ilmië about her gifts, said the Grand Squire.

\- I am to be blamed, I thought it would be more entertaining not to tell her.

\- If I may ask, Lord Findekáno, what this ... said Ilmië, genuinely bemused.

\- Horses, he said, smiling. Three horses Maitimo chose especially for you, your father and your cousin.

\- Is that so? she said slowly.

\- If you would follow me, my Lady, they are in the pasture over the hill.

Ilmië nodded to the Grand Squire whose full attention was now focused on the herds. Findekáno offered her his arm and she took it, fully aware it was the first time they ever touched one another. She felt completely silly to be so conscious about it and did her best to think about some observation to make, something witty, that could bring a smile to his face. But Ilmië was not a quick thinker, she always considered things carefully and thoroughly. Those who sought for her advice could expect a wise answer, even on the most delicate topics - only if they had patience enough to wait for it.

\- Is something the matter, my Lady? asked Findekáno.

\- No, not at all, my Lord, she replied.

\- Do you not like horses? Maitimo told me if you were to be provided with a good mount, you could go visit my sister in Vinyamar or you could travel to Himring.

\- My father shall certainly be happy about this.

\- And what about you, my Lady? You need not worry about the roads, we keep a safe watch on the Enemy, he said. I will myself leave tonight to go on patrols and then will head to Dor-Lómin where I will stay for a while.

Findekáno said this in a rather flat voice, but his eyes were searching for some signs on Ilmië's face. The latter forced herself to smile, concealing those unpleasant feelings suddenly stirring up inside her. She knew very well he would not always stay in Barad Eithel, by the King's side, but she had gotten used to see him every now and then. Perhaps she ought to count herself lucky enough for that and ought not dare to hope for more.

\- I imagine several matters call for your presence there.

\- Indeed, there is much left to do.

They fell silent and were only distracted by the sound of a soft whinny. Findekáno stopped, so did Ilmië, and they were now facing a beautiful mare whose beautiful black eyes seemed to be welcoming them. She was a most graceful creature : her coat was dapple gray, her mane and tail were of pure gleaming white, her legs, long and sturdy. Delighted by this sudden apparition, Ilmië cast aside the saddening thought of Findekáno's impending departure. She extended her free hand to stroke the mare's soft muzzle and the animal took a few steps towards Ilmië, eventually rubbing her head gently against the Elf's dress. Ilmië had to let go of Findekáno's arm so she could fully embrace the mare's head, and she laughed as she did so.

\- Is this Lord Maitimo's lovely gift? she asked, giggling because the horse nuzzled her neck.

\- It is, Lady Ilmië. She is called Nórimanna.

\- Nórimanna, repeated Ilmië, amazed.

While she stroked her new friend's mane, Findekáno whistled and two stallions came trotting. One was chestnut, the other bay, and they both possessed the same intelligent eyes as Nórimanna.

\- Súletál and Calarocco were sent for your father and your cousin, explained Findekáno. Maitimo knows Lord Carmo made many acquaintances among Sindar and should he want to travel south he need not trouble about his mount.

He could hardly hide his pleasure at seeing Ilmië's face glow with happiness. He had taken some time off his preparations to show her these three horses and he considered this a selfish act, as he had only being motivated by his own desire to spend some time with her, just the two of them. This maiden's eyes lingered often in his mind since the Mereth Aderthad, but he barely had had any opportunity to see her, and on those too few occasions they always had been surrounded by many others. He had to make do with a couple of exchanged glances and shy smiles.

Findekáno would be away for months, or perhaps years, and Ilmië might just do the same, whether she would go to Vinyamar or to the Falas, where her father had been invited to stay by Lord Círdan. And that was being optimistic, for the Enemy could unleash its forces on the Noldor anytime and Angband still stood strong, retaining its darkest secrets. Findekáno had sworn no oath, yet he had joined the Exiles and was caught under the Doom of Mandos, out of loyalty to his people, love for his father and murdered grand-father and hatred for Morgoth. He owned to the Noldor under his rule to protect them and was willing to sacrifice his life in order to defeat the Enemy. Although for the time being he could not foresee his bitter end, he was no fool. He wished to spare Ilmië any unnecessary sufferings and should he never see her again, or married to another, he thought it would only be fair to her. Times were uncertain, he feared he might not be able to keep all his promises.

And thus, in the evening, Findekáno left Barad Eithel, the sweet image of an Elf maiden and of her glittering eyes burried deep in his heart. He had said nothing about his growing tender feelings, but had enjoyed every minute they had spent in the meadow talking and laughing as they were surrounded by horses.

* * *

Life had changed in Barad Eithel since the Mereth Aderthad. Elves traveled more throughout Beleriand, Sindar and Noldor started living together in many settlements discovering each others' culture. And so King Nolofinwë had welcomed a good number of Sindarin people in his lands, and among them were two ladies of Círdan's kin, those two friends Ristion had made during the celebrations. They had left for a while the coast of the Great Sea, out of curiosity mostly, for the tales the Noldor had brought from Valinor delighted them. They had first stayed in Vinyamar and had eventually made their way to Barad Eithel at a time when Ilmië and her father were back from a visit they had paid to some of Fëanor's sons in the East. They had found their home livelier than it had ever been, and it was mostly due to one of the ladies.

Aglarwen sported the silver hair her royal relatives were famous for and it was at first a great wonder for the Noldorin ladies to brush it and braid it. Since she was an extremely gifted singer and dancer, she easily became the center of attention during feasts or even during daily gatherings. Her bright and cheerful personality made her a very good companion and in less than a fortnight she had become almost everyone's favorite, to the point that King Nolofinwë himself asked that she be seated at his table during dinners. Aglarwen's companion, Círneth, could not hope to outshine such a dazzling maiden, and she was wise enough not to try to. At first glance, she seemed more suited to the role of sidekick, but it was soon discovered she had her own endowments. Her people called her Laegaew, the Green Bird, for she was very fond of everything that sprout from the ground and they said her songs made flowers bloom faster and longer. She would often be seen in the gardens, or walking in the luxurious grass of Ard-Galen, and she befriended the healers with whom she had much to say about herb lore. These two Sindarin ladies and other newcomers brought new life in the Noldorin halls, and some hope, no doubt, to the Exiles.

And so years went by, and it still wasn't open war against the Enemy, although the Noldor kept a close watch on Angband. Ilmië spent an increasing amount of time with Aglarwen, Círneth, as she had quickly grown fond of both of them. She also rode and traveled on Nórimanna's back, she followed her father to the Falas and also visited Írissë in Vinyamar, from time to time. There she met Findekáno once, and together they had watched the sunset fall over the Great Sea, only to be interrupted when the Prince's hand had finally found hers. Afterwards, she had pondered whether she ought tell him of her feelings or not, but it had all seemed so vain when he had to leave all of a sudden for Dor-Lómin, because Orcs had been sighted north of his lands. Ilmië had thought this a sign and had felt gloomy for a while, till she was back to Barad Eithel. Hopefully, there she always found comfort in the presence of her father and her cousin, with whom she'd always have her most serious talks.

\- Have you ever given marriage any thought? asked her Ristion, one day, as they were strolling the gardens, one evening.

\- No, she said. My mind has yet to wander that far in the future.

\- And why?

\- When we were in Valinor... time passed slowly, gently. Then, I had no reason to hurry, because the world and I would never grow old and weary. I could wed and have children whenever, so it never occur to me look for a husband. I just thought, one day, I would meet him, as simple as that. And since we arrived on this side of the Great Sea, everything has become so uncertain, so temporary. Our lords are building towers and forging new weapons, but I cannot tell the outcome of this war, I can only wonder if any of us will remain to witness its end. Thus I worry more about you and father than about a potential spouse.

\- But what if you meet that person? said her cousin, giving her an inquisitive look. Despite all your worries wouldn't you give it a chance? Isn't it worth trying, at least?

Ilmië grew suspicious.

\- Do you have any particular reason to ask me such questions?

She expected some answer mentioning Findekáno, but Ristion worried about someone completely different. How could he suspect the truth when she had been so careful not to reveal her emotions?

\- I might, said Ristion. I do not know yet. Do you not fear the Doom will affect our children as well, if we ever have any?

\- I fear so, yes.

\- Is it hopeless then, our life in Beleriand?

Ilmië smiled and considered her cousin's face for a while. His mouth was slightly twisted with indecisiveness, his dark eyes staring at some of the white flowers spreading on the ground around them.

\- Perhaps we should sit and wait for the Enemy to strike us? she said. We stand against him and if it is the fate of our people to defeat him or not, and at what cost, we can not know, but we ought give it a try. For this is the only right thing to do.

And then she added:

\- My dear Ristion, you seem so concerned, is something the matter?

\- Nothing specific, Ilmië. It so happens that while I carve stones, my thoughts stray and take some unexpected turns. And I start worrying about you, your father, and... Well, you're the only family I have here, and almost the only family I have left.

He held her hand tight. Ristion had left Aman with his father and his younger sister, but of the three, he was the only one who ever saw the first moon rise. His sister was lost in the ice of Helcaraxë - though they spared no efforts, she couldn't be saved. And his father had been killed at the battle of the Lammoth, when they had been caught off-guard by Orcs. At least he knew his mother was safe in Valinor, for she had refused to take part in what she thought was folly.

\- Ristion, don't let yourself drown in those sad reflexions. For now...

She was interupted by a cheerful cry.

\- Ilmië!

Aglarwen came running towards them, she was swift and light, and her hair formed a silver banner behind her.

\- Ilmië, my sweet Ilmië, I've finally found you! I'm afraid there is some problem with the loom, or perhaps it is my fingers that are to be blamed, but this banner would dishonor even the humblest squire.

\- My friends, both of you look so grave, have you received any ill news?

\- Not at all, Ilmië assured her, smiling. I was simply boring my cousin with details of my latest embroideries.

Aglarwen was one of these people others could not bear seeing sad or scared. It seemed she was made for happiness and horribly wicked would be the day grief strikes upon her.

\- Were you? Poor Lord Ristion, he is more fit to hear tales of great deeds, not of great needles!

Ilmië let out a burst of laugh. Even her cousin looked slightly less stern.

\- Is Círneth following you? asked Ilmië. I haven't seen her all day.

\- She is out in the Ard-Galen with some of our kinfolk, said Aglarwen. I do wonder which one she fancies most, the Great Sea or the Green Sea, for she looks at both with equal delight.

\- Lady Aglarwen, IImië, if you will excuse me, interrupted Ristion.

He nodded to both of them, perhaps he was a bit stiff, and headed to the stables. Watching him go, Ilmië wondered what could have possibly triggered Ristion's gloomy thoughts. Had he met this person who made him think of marriage, then?

\- Ilmië, you really bored him with your thread talks, didn't you?

\- Maybe my speech on stitches was too passionate. Still, it's nothing a ride should not be able to fix.

A ride and a little green bird.

* * *

Nórimanna: fast running gift

Súletál : wind foot

Calarocco : Light horse

(I forgot to mention this earlier : thanks to the for all these Quenyan names I came up with, their website provided everything I needed and even more!)

I love horses. By the way, Findekáno is totally taking credit for Maitimo's horses, but well. Who can blame him haha.


	5. Chapter 4

**Quenyan names** : Findaráto/Finrod, Angaráto/Angrod

I think I stretch out the dates a bit, because Finrod had already started working on Nargothrond at that time, but I guess he could still be staying in Minas Tirith now and then.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **58 Y.S. Minas Tirith (Tol-Sirion)**

\- When you said you were coming west, I thought you meant Dor-Lómin, said Findekáno in a fake tone of disappointment.

\- I did, but on the way I was told you were here and rode north instead. Besides it was a good occasion to come and greet Findaráto. I scarcely see him, even less than I get to see you.

Maitimo was leaning on the balustrade, from the balcony he could contemplate the dark mountains of Ered Wethrin. It had been raining all day and white clouds still lingered in the sky, crowning the highest peaks.

\- He went where none of us are welcome, in Doriath, and was a guest of King Thingol at Menegroth. He came back with some interesting tidings, although he will mainly just talk about caves and stone carving.

\- Perhaps he found a new calling, said Maitimo. But I will gladly listen to anything he has to say about Doriath.

There never was great love between the sons of Fëanor and those of Finarfin, but Maitimo was wise enough to stay on good terms with Findaráto, his brothers and sister. And, if truth be told, he did respect and love them, often wishing relations between all of Finwë's descendants would be smoother . Alas, proud, so proud were all of them that any discussion about kingdoms and warfare could lead to rash arguments. And Maitimo was well aware some of his brothers would be the first to start quarrels and he also knew it was best they live so far apart from each other, from west to east Beleriand.

\- What could you hope for? King Thingol will have no part in our war.

\- Then it is only curiosity that motivates me. We heard many tales of Thingol, Melian and how they came to found their realm, and how this realm is so well protected. One can only want to learn more about it all. And don't they say their daughter is the fairest of all of Ilúvatar's children?

Findekáno smiled.

\- Dear Maitimo, do you intend to ask for Thingol's daughter hand? he teased.

\- Wouldn't it be wonderful? That'd be a sweet way to seal an alliance between Doriath and the sons of Fëanor!

They laughed, not so much because they thought themselves funny, but because if felt good to be together at last. That evening, there were many fine guests present at Tol-Sirion and even one of Findaráto's brother, Angaráto, was expected to arrive during the night, but Maitimo and Findekáno were in no hurry of joining them all. They had asked to be served dinner in Findekáno's room and also planned to spend the morrow together, probably riding along the river and hunting. The cousins always had so few hours to spend with one another, they barely felt discourteous to avoid Findaráto's people and guests for a while. However Maitimo could foretell Findekáno might worry about someone else's presence.

\- I happened to see a familiar horse graze in the pasture when I lead my own mount there, it was lady Ilmië's mare, he said. Has it reached your ears that she arrived late this afternoon with a party of Elves going back to the Falas?

\- She is probably traveling with her father, lord Carmo has become a good friend of lord Círdan over the years.

\- No, since I wished to greet him, I inquired about lord Carmo and I was told he remained in Barad Eithil. Apparently, his daughter is following a Sindarin lady, the charming silvery one whose laughter burst every now and then for no particular apparent reason.

\- Lady Aglarwen...

Maitimo patted Findekáno's shoulder, not able to suppress a mischievous smile, a smile he disclosed only to his closest friends and relatives.

\- Írissë said you were holding her hand, he muttered leaning toward his cousin.

\- I was, indeed.

\- And?

\- It never crossed my mind I would take a bride on this side of the Great Sea. Exile implied many renunciations, one of these I presumed to be marriage. But whenever she is around me, my will wavers...

\- Findekáno, have you left in Aman someone you had promised your love to? asked Maitimo, despite knowing very well the answer to his question.

\- Of course not. I do not know, though, if anything we build here is meant to last.

\- If one of us is given the chance of such a pleasant union, why spoil it? insisted Maitimo, squeezing briefly his cousin's arm. Your hands are clean, aren't they?

\- Are they, really?

Findekáno's expression had grown solemn as his eyes lingered on Maitimo's stump.

\- Had you not done this, I would still be hanging up there. Alive or dead.

Maitimo's voice was suddenly hoarse. The two cousins stood side by side, in silence, each of them recalling events that had happened years and years ago, far in the north. Finally the Fëanorian regained some cheerfulness and grinning he said:

\- If love is a grievous matter to you, then I do wonder how you handled the news of my disappearance, valiant one.

\- I had nothing to lose when I left on a quest to find you, replied Findekáno, grave as ever.

\- And now what could you possibly lose? Are you perhaps afraid you will be rejected, is her heart taken by another?

That at least put a smile on Findekáno's face.

\- No, her heart is all mine. I saw it in her eyes.

* * *

Ilmië had let Aglarwen convince her to visit Tol Sirion, thinking it would be pleasant to see new faces for a while. The ride was not a long one, nor was it particularly difficult, for all they had to do was to follow the Sirion till lord Findaráto's tower was visible. Their group chiefly consisted of Sindarin Elves - for the bigger part Tol Sirion was only a stop, and after they would continue south, to the Falas havens. Aglarwen did not mean to go that far, she had confessed to Ilmië she just looked forward seeing lord Finrod of whom she had only heard tales. And if half those accounts proved to be true, she was sure to fall in love at first sight, an idea she thought lovely and that Ilmië had declared to be silly. She had made her Sindarin friend swear not to act rashly, although she would still keep a watch on her.

\- Why would fancy a lord you never even set your eyes on?

\- I was told once I would fall in love with a golden haired Elf, replied Aglarwen very seriously.

Blonde was far from being the most common hair color among Sindar and Noldor, but Lord Finrod surely was not the only one sporting it.

\- For all you know, it could be lord Glorfindel you're fated to love.

\- Lord Finrod has Telerin blood and through his mother's father, we are kin. Distant kin, yet we might have more in common than you think.

Ilmië laughed. Aglarwen had quite strange romantic dreams, but this one seemed to top everything she had ever said before on the matter. But she couldn't be talked back her to her senses, not till they'd finally greet lord Findaráto and she'd realize they'd never be more than acquaintances. At best, Aglarwen could hope to gain his esteem and friendship and they might even travel once together to Doriath.

\- And were you told if this lord shall love you back?

\- He shall, said Aglarwen, confident.

Then it really was not lord Findaráto, thought Ilmië. She had heard he had been betrothed in Aman and meant not to break this promise while he was in Beleriand. But Aglarwen would probably discard such information. Destiny, that's all she believed in.

\- Oh Aglarwen, whoever you're bound to fall in love with, this stay should be interesting enough. As much as I doubt he can be your soulmate, lord Finrod is an unsurpassed storyteller.

And it was not long before they had the opportunity to hear him talk for after a pleasant dinner lord Finrod invited his guests to take place in a wide hall whose white stone walls were covered with marvelous tapestries. There were seats of all kinds scattered here and there and Aglarwen had chosen one near lord Finrod's armchair, although she remained discreet. She was a bit puzzled because it had not been love at first sight with him, however noble and wise he appeared to be. Lord Finrod was everything she had heard him to be and so Aglarwen thought that if she stared at him long enough she might start feeling some special attraction. Strangely enough, she was more anxious about her own impressions than his, as if it was required of her to fall in love first in order for him to love her back.

When Ilmië had been certain her friend's romantic fantasies had been cooled down by the courteous yet conventional welcome of lord Findaráto, she had withdrawn in a quiet corner from where she could still hear everything being said. She loved to listen to lord Findaráto's stories, the account of his travels to Doriath was so lively she could see before her eyes the caves and halls of Menegroth, and the trees light on Melian's face. Her peaceful evening was only disturbed by the late arrival of two prestigious guests who had skipped dinner. Ilmië saw Maitimo first, a tall and strong silhouette, and then came Findekáno who had the power to make everything around him fade out.

* * *

His eyes found her almost at once. She was sitting next to a pillar, by the light of a few elegant candlesticks. On her lap, thread, fabric, needles piled up, but she was taking a break from her work and was watching intently Findaráto. If he had not known better, Findekáno would have been very irritated at the way she seemed to be so enthralled by his cousin's words. Instead, he thought about the last time Ilmië and him had met, in Vinyamar, by the Great Sea. Back then, their encounter had also been accidental, although undoubtedly well timed, and together they had watched the sunset ignite the waves and the stars light up one by one. She was telling him of the new towers Lord Círdan intend to build in Brithombar and Eglarest - as it happened, because her father was a renowned mason, she knew nearly as much about stones as about thread - when he had grabbed her hand. He had wanted to do much more, but Írissë and her maids had found them, and that had snapped him back to reality.

\- Findekáno, Maitimo, I hope your dinner was as good as ours? asked Findaráto who had saved them seats at his side. I feared you would not show up tonight, it is so rare the three of us are reunited.

\- I had not thought of that, said Maitimo, but gathered as we are, we do offer a peculiar sight.

\- None of our siblings would agree to this, stated Findekáno with a soft laugh.

Indeed that evening in Minas Tirith sat together an interesting sample of Finwë's descendants. The three eldest sons had assembled and their hair color alone gave away their identity, as well as displaying the whole spectrum of Noldorin shades. Findaráto was crowned with the typical gold of Finarfin's house, Findekáno's dark brown hair, almost black, was neatly braided, and shiny auburn was Maitimo's, perhaps the most surprising vision of all. They graciously entertained the Sindarin guests who were eager to hear all sorts of tales and it was mainly Findaráto who spoke, readily complying with what was bid of him.

Many stories had been told when, after a tedious journey from Dorthonion, arrived Angaráto, one of Findaráto's younger brothers. They both shared the same blonde hair, but Angaráto's eyes were a deep shade of grey and they would turn still and cold like iron during battles. It gave him a severe appearance even though he was of gentle nature and more patient than most of Finwë's sons and grandsons. That day Angaráto was in merry mood, and as he saw these three lords, his own kinsmen, he laughed and called them the three ladies of the Guard, referring to the fortress name. And comparing his plain riding attire to their elegant apparels, he went on:

\- You are so lovely together, one would hardly notice our beautiful Artanis in your presence.

Everyone around burst in laughter, soon they were joined by the princes themselves. At first Findaráto did throw a dismayed look at his brother, but he enjoyed the jest all along.

\- Come sit with us, Angaráto, he said gesturing towards a seat that servants had just brought. It is most unfortunate you shall ruin our set, but I can not turn down my own blood.

\- How generous of you, brother, I was concerned you might send me back to the stables.

\- Now that you mention it, your smell does remind of my horses' stalls. Perchance are these fragrances a new trend in your nothern halls?

Again, the assembly's reaction was enthusiastic and some even clapped their hands when Findaráto and Angaráto briefly hugged, the eldest clapping the younger one's back. Once the newcomer was seated and given refreshments, the evening resumed itself and songs were requested. Many called for Aglarwen whose voice was always a delight and she gladly abode by their will, sitting on a cushion, next to a harpist. He plucked his instrument's cords, a sweet and nostalgic melody filled the vast room.

\- Delightful land beyond all dreams !

Beyond what seems to thee most fair—

Rich fruits abound the bright year round

And flowers are found of hues most rare*, sang the Sindarin Elf, her face half hidden by long strands of silvery hair.

She was beautiful in her vaporous white dresses, some glorious vision of her people's talents and fairness. And to Angaráto, she was the fourth and most beautiful color, a pure silver who stole his heart in a single glance and made his chest grow heavy with yearning. Of her he knew nothing, he had barely heard her name when she had come forth to sing, but he found himself spellbound by this maiden. When her songs were over, Angaráto applauded like everyone else, and then he rose and left the hall where guests started to spread in little groups. He had muttered something to his brother about horses and weariness, however he hurried to the gardens where his sat next to a fountain of white marble, hoping to find some peace there. The moon reminded of Aglarwen and, under its soft shine, he reflected for hours.

This evening was a short one for Angaráto, but other guests enjoyed it nonetheless and some even stayed up all night. And as for Findekáno, when he saw Ilmië leave the hall, he resolved to follow her wherever it may lead him.

* * *

On the way to her room, Ilmië looked at the handkerchief, feeling altogether proud, but also slightly bashful. She had done good work and had taken care of every little details, sewing as long as she wasn't entirely satisfied with the results. She was especially pleased with how the central star had turned out, since it had been so complicated to make it shiny enough that it would glimmer and shimmer as brightly as if it had been picked up from the sky. Overall, it was only a small achievement and she dreamed of weaving a banner one day, although such a scheme could hardly be kept a secret. No doubt that others would wonder why of all the designs she'd chosen Findekáno's coat of arms and thus Ilmië had settled for an embroidered handkerchief, an item she could easily hide in a pocket.

She ran her fingers on the soft fabric, inspecting her stitches once again. There were no visible flaw, however she feared she had made a mistake and her face showed every signs of utter concentration.

\- Can you sew while walking, lady Ilmië? Your hands have been busy all evening yet I see you are taking no rest.

\- Lord Findekáno! she exclaimed, startled.

She did her best to fold the handkerchief quickly, but panic turned her into a clumsy maid and Findekáno had already caught a glimpse of the star. He did enjoy this look of sheer surprise she displayed while he walked toward her.

\- An admirable piece of work, he muttered bending over her. They are right to praise your skills, my Lady.

Ilmië did not recall having ever blushed like that before. Her cheek felt so hot, it was as if they might never recover completely from the sudden blood rush.

\- Did you embroider all of our house's coat of arms? My father's, my brother's?

\- I... no... only yours, my Lord.

She recovered some self-control when she noticed his mouth had twitched, the tiniest sign of his own inner stir. Ilmië also saw the light in his eyes, it shined like it had back in Vinyamar when the two of them had shared some time alone. And she was right, for Findekáno intended to resume things as they had left them years ago and so he took Ilmië's hand, saying :

\- Come, the air is filled with a fine breeze tonight, it's carrying summer's first scents along.

At Minas Tirith, the gardens were vast and beautiful, but also too crowded for Findekáno's taste, especially on that night. The last thing he wanted was for Aglarwen to come dancing and giggling around them with half the guests, therefore he headed to the river banks, where tall weeping willows stood and provided a safe shelter to those who sought after it. Findekáno opted for a luxuriant tree whose tender green leaves filtered the moon light. They sat facing each other on thick grass, among tortuous roots, and the water flow could be heard playing its gentle music nearby.

\- Findaráto is well off on this island.

\- Yes, he is, said Ilmië. Your lord cousin is a very agreeable host.

\- He is a remarkable storyteller, isn't he?

\- Yes, his recollection of Menegroth was so vivid, I felt I was traveling with him. He speaks but wise words and has already acquired such a great knowledge of creatures and plants of Beleriand, I look forward hearing more tomorrow. Truly, lord Findaráto is quite gifted.

\- Is he? said Findekáno, chuckling.

Ilmië gasped, realizing she sounded very infatuated with lord Findaráto.

\- I only meant to express my admiration, she said hastily. Nothing more.

She straightened and smoothed her dress, in an effort to gain some composure. But she felt like a dimwit next to Findekáno who looked so cool-headed, although his eyes sparkled with longing.

\- Do not worry, my Lady, there is no misunderstanding, he said. You chose to embroider my coat of arms, not his.

He caught a lock of her hair between his fingers, played with it.

\- Do you really like it? asked Ilmië.

\- Yes, your needlework is very delicate and it is flattering my colors could inspire you.

He was now stroking her cheek with one hand.

\- Then have it, my Lord. It is indeed a small gift, but I put all my heart into it, said Ilmië, placing the handkerchief in his lap.

She leaned towards him, so near she needed not move much more to place a kiss on his forehead. Her gesture was spontaneous, it felt only natural to cup his face with her hands, and to press her lips on his brow. Findekáno grabbed her arms and pulled her closer, so he could fully embrace her and bury his face in her soft golden hair. Ilmië tangled her fingers in his silky braids, rested her head on his shoulder. Both had closed their eyes, feeling the moment's fullness.

For a long time, none of them talked. They quietly listened to each other's breath and one could have thought they had fallen asleep. The moon had gone low when Findekáno finally spoke:

\- Ilmië, we can not wait another two decades to meet again.

* * *

*: these are absolutely not mine, it is from the "The lay of Oisín in the Land of Youth" by Miceál Coimín (well a translation of it). I heard it in a song from the movie "Into the West" (1992), it fits really well with Tolkien's universe I think.

It's a detail, but I guess Fingon had his own coat of arms before becoming High King since he was at least the ruler of Dor-Lómin? Also, I wanted to play a little bit with Angrod, since we know almost nothing about him (and in the Silmarillion he's not married, and so he isn't Orodreth's father).

And in the upcoming chapters the story won't keep be skipping decades like it has so far. Chapters will follow one another more closely for a while.


	6. Chapter 5

I forget to write it down all the time, but all credit goes to Tolkien!

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 _\- I asked for the King's leave, he had said, I could not decline lord Círdan's request, for it was legitimate and he has always shown me great kindness._

A few days ago, Ilmië had come back from Tol Sirion where she had spent nearly all Spring in Findekáno's company. Flowers had sprung before their eyes, love had mimicked vegetation as it had blossomed in their hearts and souls. Ilmië thought everything surrounding her seemed sweeter, even the Exile's burden felt lessened since her and Findekáno had both pronounced those three short words "I love you". But, in Barad Eithel, lord Carmo had an important announcement, something that took his daughter by surprise and smitten her.

\- Father, I thought we were in this together.

\- We are, my sweet Ilmië, we are.

\- Then why will you not let me come with you to the havens? It would not be the first time we travel together.

\- It is not just a leisure trip, you know very well I intend to make it my home there, said lord Carmo with a sad smile. And your place is not by the Great Sea, dearest, your life is here, in Hithlum and in Dor-Lómin, in the north. Not in the Falas.

\- I could stay with you for a while only, insisted Ilmië. You will need help to settle...

\- Do you think me too clumsy not to be able to move by myself? asked her father taking her hands in his. It is true I will transfer my whole workshop there, but my craftmen will follow me as well and they will make sure nothing is amiss. Besides lord Círdan has proven to be a very mindful host previously, this time I can only expect he will have everything readied for me. Then why would you worry, sweetling?

\- You... you do not want me to dwell with you anymore?

\- Ilmië, I am not going so far away as to not be able to visit you from time to time. And I shall certainly be happy if you were to come see me whenever it please you, he said squeezing her hands. It'd be a lie to say I will not miss seeing your busy little silhouette, when you bend over some of your works. You know it has always warm my heart to have you nearby. But do you not think that from now on your time would be better spent on someone else than your poor father?

Ilmië flushed a bit.

\- I would only stay a fortnight, just long enough so that I would be certain you are adjusting well...

Lord Carmo sighed and, letting go his daughter's hands, he smoothed her hair whose light color reminded him almost painfully of his wife in that moment.

\- Not long ago, when you came back from Tol Sirion and told me of lord Findekáno and the time you spent together on the island, truly I was a happy father. I can not deny I was surprised at first, it seemed I had not perceived my own daughter's feelings. Your mother would say I pay more attention to stones than living creatures, but you did conceal these emotions carefully, did you not? And he ... lord Findekáno, he asked me for a private word no later than yesterday, he... I can safely assume you won't grieve my absence too long, dearest.

Ilmië's eyes were filled with water, but she did not cry, she had learned not too in the ruthless ice of the Helcaraxë. She did not know precisely what triggered this surge of emotions, it was as if all emotions fought for a place in her chest. She could only whispered :

\- Father, I will miss you greatly.

\- Me too, my sweet Ilmië, me too, said lord Carmo, holding her in his arms. But I will tell you over and over, I am only moving to the havens. No Great Sea, no Doom, no Enemy shall stand between us. Ever.

* * *

Ilmië spent the night on her balcony from where she could see the seemingly never ending Ard-Galen. It was all cloudy, the moonlight would now and then pierce through the misty sky, but a heavy darkness reigned over the lands. And it rained, as it often did in these parts of Beleriand, and the steady sound of raindrops falling on the porch roof helped Ilmië focus on her musings.

She remembered when anger and grief had filled the Noldor's hearts, after the tragic death of the Old King. The words of Fëanor had inflamed many Elves and her own father was not spared from this turmoil for he had held King Finwë in high respect and had devoted most of his works to him. Less concerned by the theft of the Silmarils, or by the suspicions insinuating the Valar had been neglecting, lord Carmo had vowed the murder of his King would not remained unpunished.

Ilmië could still hear her mother's pleads, how she had begged her husband, how she had wept when he had declared, in a broken voice, that his choice was final. Lady Lanyë of the Vanyar put her trust in the Valar, foreseeing justice would only come for a bitter price to those who would leave Aman to seek revenge. And even if she felt indignant herself, Ilmië had agreed with her, more so after the kinslaying that occurred at Alqualondë, a terrible event she had hoped would convince her father, to go back to her mother, to her sister. Alas, as much as lord Carmo loved his wife and his younger daughter, as much as he had been horrified by the blood spilled in the harbor, he had chosen to be part of Nolofinwë's host. And Ilmië had followed, torn between her parents, and a land she loved deeply, and one she imagined full of new wonders.

She often dreamed of her mother. Lady Lanyë's reassuring face comforted her, the radiance of her golden hair brought light to her darkest nightmares. And her smile, how she longed for that beautiful smile for it had the power to soothe away all fears. Never far from her mother stood Luinië, her sweet sister, who, despite her dark noldorin hair, had taken after their mother's cautious wisdom and unwavering faith. Ilmië had seen her grown, they had shared secret adventures and endless laughters, and it was always a relief to think Luinië was safe in Valinor. Would Ilmië ever walk with them again in the magnificent gardens of Tirion, the everlasting city of the Noldor? Would she at least see their faces once more, before the end of the world?

When dawn came, she grew weary of standing still and after putting on a light cloak, she headed to the gardens, those located outside the walls of the fortress. She did not mind the rain, it was merely just a drizzle, and tree leaves shielded her from most of it. Ilmië took no specific path and was not paying attention to her surroundings, she would only stare at the grass without really seeing it. She was about to look for a bench, hoping that some sewing would help clear her mind, when she heard a voice coming not far from where she was.

On her left, there was a small pond almost entirely covered with waterlilies. Overlooking the water, a small stone pavillion had been erected and in there was sitting her cousin, Ristion. He had been in Vinyamar until recently, but lord Carmo had probably summoned him when he had taken the decision to move to the Falas. Ilmië was glad to come across him as he would surely understand how she felt about her father relocating. But Ristion was not alone in the pavillion, next to him was Círneth, clad in pure white.

\- Since lord Carmo will move to the havens, I will myself officially enter lord Turukáno's service, Ristion was saying, his face displaying some concern. It might be he has some promising projects I shall work on and this means... if perchance your feelings remained unchanged, my Lady, then I pledge to give you the peaceful life you deserve and all of my heart for it entirely belongs to you, and only you.

Hidden behind a tree, Ilmië searched for a way to exit the gardens without being discovered by her cousin and... his lover. Although Ristion had never quite opened himself about it, she had long suspected he and Círneth had fallen in love. But Ilmië had thought her cousin had somehow given up on his feelings since he had stayed mainly in Vinyamar over the past decades. It seemed Círneth had not expected his as well for it took her several minutes to finally manage to speak.

\- My ears are not playing tricks on me, are they? she said and her voice sounded astonished. Lord Ristion, you know very well I waited for you all this time, and I would have waited centuries.

\- I never doubted you, nor did I doubt the love I bear you, he said. I feared the Doom, I fear it would affect you, my Lady, but there is hope I think, hope that was given by lord Turukáno.

\- Is that so, my Lord? she said.

Then, Ilmië quickly glanced at their direction and upon noting Ristion had kneeled beside Círneth, she hurried back to the fortress's gates contrite to have witnessed such an intimate scene.

\- My dear Círneth, there is no reason for us to be apart anymore, she could still hear as she ran away swiftly.

Although the rain had stopped, the sky remained cloudy and Ilmië dreamed of nothing but a warm hearth and some hot beverage. And then she saw King Nolofinwë himself, who stood in front of the gates, discussing with two Elves dressed in shiny armors, each of them holding a helm under one arm. From the colors painted on their breastplate they seemed to belong to the highest ranks of the garrison, perhaps they were some of those captains routinely leading troops on patrols in the Ard-Galen and the northern parts of Hithlum. Ilmië would have rather avoid them, but it was too late to turn back as they had already seen her. The guards bowed and stepped back while the King greeted her with a pleasant smile.

\- Lady Ilmië, I hope I find you well, he said. I presume your lord father is quite taken these days? I see his crafstmen going back and forth till late at night and he himself seldom leaves his workshop.

\- Indeed, this relocation is no easy task, she said after having curtsied.

\- Please forgive me to ask, but shall I assume this departure might upset you?

\- Your Grace, I can not allow myself to be dejected by what is, after all, good news, she said, although the King had been perfectly right.

\- Lord Carmo never was one to settle down for long, if I remember correctly. His craft summons him where his talents can serve best, and, as much as I enjoy his company, I would have been a selfish liege to deprive him from the chance to help lord Círdan strengthen the havens.

\- And I a spoiled daughter to wish to stay by his side? sighed Ilmië.

\- To dwell far from one's kin is scarcely desirable, and there is no shame in being sorrowful because you are about to part with your father, said the King in a voice full of empathy. Perhaps one of the biggest sacrifice that has awaited me in Beleriand is to have my family scattered on different lands. My children all have their own affairs to tend to, and I do not even get to see my only grand-daughter, my precious Itarillë, as often as I would like. And then they are those we left in Aman, those whose souls are in the Halls of Mandos... Lady Ilmië, rest assured you will find all the comfort you need within my household.

Despite those sad words, King Nolofinwë's smile had no withered, on the contrary it had gotten warmer.

\- Your Grace, I am utterly honored of the favors you are showing me, however it feels underserved, said Ilmië, feeling very touched.

\- Does it? Your father has always faithfully served my house, I daresay I own him half this fortress at least, and most of what surrounds it.

\- I sincerely thank you, Your Grace, but I do not wish to disturb you furthermore with something as trivial as daughter's foolish vexation.

\- Let me be my own judge of what is trivial and what is not, lady Ilmië. I hope you have a good day, nonetheless.

She bowed and walked away, feeling a bit dizzy.

\- Mayhap you would want to see my son, he is in his solar and does intend to spend the day there, said the King before she was out of earshot.

* * *

She knocked three times and pushed the door, a sturdy oak door that lead into a rectangular room in which stood a long solid table. One wall was covered with leather bound books and parchment rolls, another was in fact just one big window overlooking the courtyard. Seated in an armchair, Findekáno looked as startled as he could. A single raised eyebrow gave away his surprise.

\- Ilmië! I was not expecting you so soon, he said as he got up promptly.

\- Were you expecting me at all? she said, glancing at the maps spread on the table. Are these used by patrols or are they only meant to look at near a warm fire?

\- We have many copies, so each captain has its own, and we try to compare our notes as often as possible, he explained. But, Ilmië, you surely did not come up here to inquire about geography, did you? he added before kissing lightly her fingers, a tender gesture he would allow himself from time to time.

\- No. Please excuse me to disrupt you.

\- You need not. I'm afraid I was not really studying these maps, I was merely daydreaming over them, he admitted with a smile.

\- Were you?

He nodded and said, in a more serious tone:

\- So, Ilmië, has it yet crossed your mind to move to the Falas?

\- It'd be a lie to say it hasn't, she admitted. When we left Aman, when we went into exil, we all had our reasons to cross the ice... With all due respect to our King and to your house, there was only one Elf I followed back then, it is only him I looked up to whenever my courage would waver... my father. I could not bear to think about what his life could become without his wife and daughters. One of us had to go with him. And so I thought we would always dwell together, in Beleriand. Because now we are so far from home.

\- Your father is much more needed in Brithombar and Eglarest than here, and perhaps safer there as well. Besides, lord Círdan will treat him like his own kin, they both have much regard for one another. But you, Ilmië, I hope you understand your place is by my side.

\- I do, Findekáno.

His sharp features were softened by a sheer joy which proved to be contagious. Ilmië suddenly found herself chuckling and her breath tickled his collarbone. He leaned toward her, one hand on her cheek and the other resting on her waist. At first, he kissed her almost reverently, with caution and shyness, but Ilmië put her arms around his neck and Findekáno grew greedier.

\- I had rings being made, I really did, he breathed, when they broke apart, his forehead still touching hers. But I do not have them with me, they are at the forge. I fancied I would bring you up our highest tower, near the sky, or that we would go on a ride in the mountains, amidst the clouds, but this solar shall do. There is no reason for me not to tell you what I was daydreaming about.

He paused and declared:

\- Ilmië, would you exchange vows of love and commitment with me? Would you consent to marry me?

Expectation made him embrace her even tighter.

\- Findekáno, is it what we ought to do?

\- Ilmië, were you not to become my wife, my mind would as well be filled with worry concerning you, and if anything were to happen, my grief would know no bound for I already call you beloved in my heart. Is it not better thus to entwine our destinies officially, in front of our kin? Be it we take what joy is offered to us, sorrow shall come too soon all the same.

She had to stand on the tips of her feet in order to kiss his lips.

\- Then yes, it is yes, she muttered against his mouth.

They kissed again and then Ilmië rested her head on his shoulder.

\- What convinced you? she asked. Was the water so sweet in Tol Sirion? Or was it Spring's dazzling Sun?

\- Why, my lady, you want to be praised?

Early on, even in blissful Valinor, she had understood Findekáno was not one who would shower his lady with compliments or sweet nothings. He was rather austere, but Ilmië loved it this way for she knew his every single words to be sincere and carefully chosen, and his feelings, steady and utterly sincere. And since she was not of an expansive nature herself, she never dreamed of endless romantic speeches. Yet the decision of their betrothal was a unique occasion, it acted as a trigger on Findekáno.

\- Your eyes, they have that sparkle about them, a light the like of I have never seen before, in any stars nor jewels, might be it was meant for me only to gaze upon, he said very seriously. And you are one of the quietest Elf I have met, yet you are always around and as solid as a rock it seems. We will need to rely on one another, and I would entrust no other lady to that task.

\- Thus I shall follow you to Dor-Lómin?

\- If you happen to ride ahead of me, I shall be the one who follows you.

\- It is still your lands, lord Findekáno.

\- By the time we get there, it will be yours also, lady Ilmië.

* * *

Do not worry, it will soon be Findekáno's turn to be showered with compliments.

This chapter turned out to be much longer than I had planned to... I meant to include the betrothal feast in it as well, but it'll wait until next week.


	7. Chapter 6

I literaly wrote this chapter sentence by sentence whenever I could catch a break T.T Looking for a job is stressful, even more in a foreign country, and most of all it doesn't help one writing about Tolkien's wonderful world... Anyways, here it is, and I'll work harder for chapter 7.

 **Quenyan names** : Angaráto/Angrod, Findaráto/Finrod, Carnistir/Caranthir, Itarillë/Idril.

* * *

 **58 Y.S. (** **Summer) Barad Eithel**

 **Chapter 6**

\- Tell me Angaráto, if you were to describe a rock in three words which one would you pick? asked Carnistir.

\- Grey, heavy, hard.

\- Are these your best options, really?

\- Nay, if I give it a little more consideration, I would say gold, light, soft.

\- Indeed, these three justly evoke a rock's delicate fairness. Gold, light, soft and, if I may add, fairly skilled at sewing.

Both Carnistir and Angaráto sneered and this earned them scowls from their elder brothers. But even Findaráto and Maitimo could hardly suppress a smile, it did take all their good souls and loyalty toward Findekáno to gather enough will not to laugh out loud.

\- Our great family has been blessed with yet another talented poet, and all these years I believed Macalaurë could not be surpassed, sniggered Carnistir.

\- You need not add to his burden, reprimanded Maitimo, though his tone was anything but severe. Does he not look contrite enough to you?

He had put an arm around his dear cousin's shoulders. At his side, Findekáno's was stern, but he stayed still, like a statue, his head held high, and one could have assumed he was totally unaware of what was being said around him. However 'contrite' was not exactly how he felt, 'regretful' might have been more appropriate.

\- It is one hard lesson for prince Findekáno, even the gold he braided his plaits with seems to have lost its shine, remarked Angaráto.

They all had a look at Findekáno's hair, but everything seemed normal. He knew his lady had perfectly understood the meaning of his words, and it was all that mattered to him. That his cousins misinterpreted his prose was merely a small mishap, nothing worth for him to explain himself. He'd gladly cope with their jests if that meant there would be no family feuds during his betrothal feast.

\- Pray cousin, why did you compare poor lady Ilmië to a rock, of all things? asked Carnistir. I saw but a glimpse of her and she seemed lovely and quite _alive_ to me.

\- Perhaps we do not possess the wits to understand so subtle a piece of poetry.

Angaráto and Carnistir laughed again and this time Maitimo chuckled a little. It was a rare occasion to have these getting along so well and it was all due to Findekáno's unfortunate account of how he had asked for Ilmië for her hand. None except Turukáno and Maitimo had had the privilege of hearing all the details and this "rock incident" would have never been but for his younger brother's innocent slip.

\- I should have sent you away instead of allowing you to stay when Turukáno told me of the betrothal, said Findaráto to Angaráto. But it never crossed my mind you would find any entertaining matter in this, after all Turukáno barely mentionned Findekáno's speech. Nor did it ever occur to me you'd confide a private matter to Carnistir. Not that I mean any offense, cousin.

Carnistir took none, for once. And what Findaráto said was true : Turukáno had had no intention of causing his brother any embarrassment, he had been genuinely happy to share the news, nothing more.

\- On the spur of the moment his speech turned out to be quite gallant, he who seldomly praise his closest kin, it seemed his tongue was all of sudden set loose. Incredible sparkling eyes, the rock in his life, it went along those lines, had told the lord of Vinyamar.

Out of context, it might sound odd, and this was the only piece of information Angaráto and Carnistir would care to remember for they did not recall having had a better opportunity to tease their seemingly flawless cousin. They had kept on elaborating a variety of pleasantries and, if at first they had not dared be too loud while Findekáno was around, they now entertained the ambitious idea of making him laugh at his own words. But the Prince, while he did regret having ever mentioned this rock metaphor, was too focused on his impending betrothal feast to be concerned by his cousins' game. And though he would never admit it, far from being annoyed, he did think them quite funny. Perhaps he was simply a bit too proud to let it show.

\- Lady Ilmië has not called off our betrothal, thus we may safely assume she does not bear me any grudge for my regrettable attempt at being romantic.

As he finally spoke, he rose from his seat and glanced at Angaráto and Carnistir.

\- This means you need to groom yourselves for tonight's feast and I'm afraid there is not much time left for the two of you to look decent enough not to bring shame on your houses, Findekáno teased, exiting the solar and looking as regal as ever.

* * *

Ilmië was sitting on a high stool and the ladies busied themselves around her. Lady Lilassë, a fellow seamstress with whom she had worked on her dress, was checking the numerous layers of her skirts and underskirts ; Círneth had finished braiding her hair and was entwining little white flowers in her plaits ; Írissë, whom they now more often than not called Aredhel, had selected one of her own necklace, a delicate piece of work made of white and pink gold and encrusted with tiny crystals. Ilmië was not used to have others attending to her this way, at least not such highborn ladies, but it was far from being unpleasant to be pampered, for once.

\- I hope you braced yourself, Ilmië, for the task awaiting you ought not be taken lightly, said Aredhel in a solemn tone.

\- I promise you I shall be as solid as a rock, or a mountain if needs be.

They all burst in laughters.

\- My brother is as skillful and noble as it comes, perhaps he is the best of us all, but it seems we found his one and only flaw.

\- Are you not exaggerating? Findekáno's words seemed quite appropriate when he... well, when it mattered.

\- Oh, you should hear the tales my cousins Angaráto and Carnistir are spreading around, they sure did take some liberties with the truth, said Aredhel, grinning.

The ladies giggled again.

\- Lord Findekáno musn't like being the hero of such japes, must he? asked lady Lilassë, adjusting one of Ilmië's skirt hem.

\- Not much, but he is too lordly to bother with it. I wager he is totally unconcerned by those, that would explain why my cousins have come up with their fanciful stories. They probably think the bigger their jests are, the better their chances of having Findekáno react to it.

\- They might end up being disappointed.

\- They will be disappointed, dear Ilmië. But it brought them together, it can't have been completely worthless.

The way Aredhel laughed when she said this reminded Ilmië that something was amiss.

\- Círneth, would you know where Aglarwen has gone? she asked. I expected her to have a hand at everything today, yet she is nowhere to be seen.

Ilmië assumed her friend had set out to be introduced to lord Glorfindel who had come to Barad Eithel along with lord Turukáno and she hoped the Sindarin Elf wouldn't be too blunt about this blonde soulmate theory she had come up with.

\- No, she probably is welcoming lord Círdan and some of our kin who have traveled with him. Although it is quite surprising she is not here, since she spent so much time helping you getting ready with your dress.

\- I suppose we shall see her well enough during the feast, said Ilmië, slightly intrigued.

* * *

The betrothal feast, though a rather modest one, lasted two days for King Nolofinwë had stated his people had had too few occasions to rejoice since their arrival in Beleriand. And if anything, the announcement of his eldest son and rightful heir's upcoming wedding was auspicious, an encouragement for Noldor and Sindar alike, since weddings had become rare events, and births even rarer. It was perhaps too optimistic to assume Findekáno's example would cause a sudden wave of unions and deliveries, but it might just be a helpful reminder that there was still hope after all.

The Prince and his bride-to-be had well understood their decision's impact and, even if they both were more inclined to discreet festivities, they had agreed on making it a public ceremony and play their part. Still it was no grandiose celebration : Nolofinwë's household had aimed at creating a sober yet refined decor in the main hall of Barad Eithel, and so flowers and candles brought in abundance brightened the smooth marbled walls and columns. They were relying more on a few well chosen guests from all over Beleriand than on sumptuous decorations or a lavish banquet.

Lord Círdan and some of his people had glady accepted the invitation and from Arafinwë's house Findaráto and Angaráto were present. Out of his six brothers Maitimo had summoned Carnistir, a surprising choice, though it proved a good one, and with him had come Laiquendi from Ossiriand. King Nolofinwë's family had of course all gathered, and he had warmly thanked Ilmië for that, although she did not feel she personally deserve any credit for it. But the King was genuinely happy, beaming around and welcoming everyone with equal kindness, and she surely did not wish to deny him his pleasure.

It was the first time in her life Ilmië ever sat on the dais and though she had never been far from it, being up there was a whole different feeling, especially since she was seated right in the center, between King Nolofinwë and her betrothed. It would not have been right to say Findekáno looked like a prince, he simply was a real one. Whether he was gazing at the guests or at her, his fair face exuded serenity and a quiet strength that made her feel confident enough to face all these Elves assembled in the hall. His grey eyes sparkled as if the light of Telperion itself shone from them and a gentle smile would not leave his lips. Like Ilmië, he wore the finest garments and his strong silhouette was framed by a dark blue vest his lady had embroidered herself with multiple silver stars - she wouldn't have him wear something her hands had had no part in creating.

On the table, his hand rested on hers, and now and then the silver ring on his forefinger would gleam, reminding her their fates would soon be linked and it was the sweetest thought to know she and Findekáno had officially promised to wed in two years from then. When they had pronounced the vows, in front of their close kin, Ilmië had had eyes for him only, she had seen nothing else but his handsome self, as if in a dream. Even years, decades, centuries later, she only had to close her eyes to remember how splendid and proud Findekáno had been on this day that had marked the beginning of their journey together in Beleriand. This was almost the only memory she kept from her betrothal feast, this and the words the King had pronounced before they started eating.

\- My dear Findekáno, my eldest son, and my dear Ilmië, whom I shall soon have the pleasure to call daughter, he had started, smiling at them, and you all, gathered here to celebrate love, family, friendship, I welcome you under my roof and hope this celebration will be an agreeable one to you. A father's heart can only rejoice when children find happiness, and as I also have the chance of being a grandfather, I wish for my beloved Itarillë to have many cousins, everyone of them as precious as she.

He then took a pause, glanced around.

\- And you all, who are my kin, my friends, my people, these times are uncertain and the darkest shadow has loomed from north, yet we should not neglect simple joys, nor should we always postpone whatever happiness that is offered to us. Caution can not dictate our every move, for it might be that some things are simply meant to be and it not for us to fight against them. Despair may come, yet we will stand stronger if we welcome it with our heads and hearts filled with blissful memories. And so it my humble opinion that tonight is one of those good opportunities to build together a gleeful past we shall recall and rely upon when everything surrounding us falls apart. Let us all raise our cups and, as I said, celebrate love.

Long after, Ilmië would remember those words, when everything seemed lost in Beleriand.

* * *

So it's a fairly short chapter (well it feels like it), I meant to include the betrothal feast in chapter 5 at first, but it ended being too long for that. I guess the Silmarillion's general tone is too solemn (and dramatic) for characters to joke around, but even high Elves had fun at times? Although, I don't really picture Fingon as being the life of the party, even back in Valinor haha.


	8. Chapter 7

Here it is, I had this chapter in mind even before I started writing chapter 1, I think haha.

Also, quick reminder that I do not own anything related to Arda, it's all Tolkien's.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 **60 Y.S. (Summer)**

Findekáno and Ilmië sometimes marveled at their growing intimacy. Their betrothal allowed them to spend an ever growing time together and, although they had to be apart now and then, they hardly overpassed an occasion to be together. Accordingly, they already had started sharing habits of their own, silly little things common to all lovers, but one of these they wished to remain secret. It was nothing indecent, nor was it forbidden by the laws of Eldar - at worst it could be called a small indulgence.

On sunny afternoons, they usually wandered outside of Barad Eithel and searched for a spot near a water stream where Findekáno would sit. Then Ilmië would start by unbraiding his hair and comb it carefully, till it was all soft and fluid. This was such a pleasant ritual for him, everytime he'd close his eyes and let his muscles relax, entrusting Ilmië's skilled fingers with his dark brown locks. He loved it even more when she'd begin to plait his hair, as she tirelessly played with strands of hair and tried audacious knots. It crossed Findekáno's mind repeatedly that cats were to be envied for they could easily express their contentment when they purred, while he would just occasionally let out a disgraceful moan. He had complained about this feline and unfair privilege to Ilmië and it caused her a good laugh.

\- With a husband like you, I won't have need of a daughter, she had said.

She was only teasing him though, for she had been the one asking to braid his hair in the first place, since she had bragged she could entwine it as well as she did it with thread and yarn. At the beginning, it had been a challenge between the two of them, but soon they had forgotten about competition and had simply enjoyed being so close to one another. And now that there was barely a fortnight left before their wedding, Ilmië had in mind to braid his hair in a most intricate way, a task she deemed serious. It had been hours and Findekáno was almost asleep when he heard her ask:

\- How was it?

\- How was what? he said, his voice sounding lazy.

\- When you rescued Maitimo.

He had not been prepared for such a serious question and it took him a few moments to recollect his thoughts.

\- What would you have me tell you?

\- The Fëanorians, they burned the ships as soon as they landed in Beleriand, so we had to cross the ice... A great number of us were... those who survived bore great ill toward Fëanor and his sons once we arrived in Hithlum, each side had its own bank of lake Mithrim. And would you have not saved Maitimo, there might just have been... a... settling might not have been a peaceful process, many quarrels could have arised...

Judging by the way she spoke, Findekáno could tell she had been brooding about all this for a while, carefully making up sentences in her head. It was not a light matter to tackle, but he felt compel to answer her truthfully.

\- Regardless of our fathers' feud, Maitimo is my kin, he said as he straightened, and not only is he my kin, he also is my dearest friend. Even when we saw the thick black smoke arise east, across the Great Sea, I never once doubted he opposed his father's will and refused to set the ships afire. Besides, it is the very first thing Macalaurë told me when met near lake Mithrim. He wept as the words came out of his mouth, and he begged me to believe him, for he did not want his brother's memory to be tainted by insidious rumors. He told me in details how Maitimo had taken no part in that crime... how he had specifically mentioned me... Findekáno, the valiant one...

Ilmië rubbed his back softly.

\- But how could... how could hope to find him alive, after he fell in Morgoth's ambush? His own brothers thought him dead, yet you set out...

To her, this was the biggest wonder. After all, Findekáno's quest could have proved vain if Maitimo had indeed passed away already and himself might have never come back from it.

\- His brothers have been too optimistic perhaps, but I never believed Morgoth would give him a quick and merciful death. Was it not crueler to keep him alive for as long as possible? At all events, I had to try, a firm conviction he was somewhere north drove my feet to mount Thangorodrim... Ilmië, you must know it yourself, Maitimo is strong, even for an Eldar, even for a prince of Finwë's blood. He was born strongest among strong ones. Therefore, for me there was only one possible outcome, he must have been waiting, wherever he was held captive, in whatever state Morgoth's wicked schemes had left him in. And I set out, and I knew he would have done the same for me, for he loves me as much as I love him.

Ilmië had stopped braiding his hair, her hands were slowly caressing his neck. She did not dare say a word about what had happened on mount Thangorodrim, of that she had solely heard songs and a few words from the healers who had taken care of Maitimo.

\- I often wonder what I could have done better... Maitimo was saved, but for a terrible moment, it seemed I would have to... oh, he implored me, he did. I had my bow drawn, I aimed at his heart... I felt so hopeless, never had the world seemed so dark, such despair overthrew me... And then the Valar heard my prayer, their providential help spared me from committing a hideous act. But, despite what anyone would consider a happy ending, I am still haunted by dreams in which I was able to save him... wholly. Back then, on the cold rock, I only focused on getting him out of that wretched trap, however soon after, when he was recovering, I could see nothing but his stump...

His voice had become a low whisper and Ilmië rested her head on his shoulder, so she would not miss a word. He still felt utterly calm, otherwise he probably would have not confided this much. But he had found Ilmië's touch had a soothing effect on him, his skin would always pleasantly tickled under her fingers, and lately he oft found himself eagerly looking forward their wedding. The warmth of her body against his even chased away his sad memories.

\- Maitimo recovered fast and well, Ilmië reminded him. And did you not say yourself his left hand holds the sword with even more strength than his right one used to?

\- This, at the very least, was to be expected of him, said Findekáno with a hint of pride.

\- Is that the reason he calls you valiant? Because you set forth to save him?

\- No, he called me valiant well before that. While we lived in Aman, we often went climbing together in the mountains and he always said none could be as daring as I was. No cliff would cause me any dither, forward and forward I would go, running and jumping, nearer and nearer the celestial sphere. It seems I was always drawn to the stars Varda Elentári lighted for us - would that I once reach them, pluck some of them... if such a thing was allowed... At first, Maitimo was wont to name me the muflon, but my lack of horns made me unworthy of these creatures and I lost this flattering title. And so I became valiant.

How he missed those faraway days, when he could leisurely spend days outside, laying on grass. The wind would sing him an airy lullaby and the Trees diffused silvery and golden lights soothed his spirit.

\- Maitimo always understood your heart well, it seems.

\- Truth be told, even to this day I strongly suspect he advised my own mother when time had come for her to give me an Amilessë.

They both laughed and, since sunset neared, Ilmië quickly braided Findekáno's hair back in its usual fashion and they headed toward Barad Eithel where none suspected their afternoon had been devoted to brushing and plaiting.

* * *

During the following days black smoke could be seen north and glimpse could be caught of dark red flames, clues of a bloodier fire. These ill omens alerted Elves from west to east, for it could only mean Morgoth planned an attack. Soon there were reports, alarming reports, not just from the north, but also from the south, as it seemed small troops of Orcs had sneaked past Hithlum and Dorthonion, under the cover of pestilent fumes. Upon hearing the news, scouts had been sent from Barad Eithel on the Ard-Galen, messengers to surroundings kingdoms, and war seemed impending and inevitable. Already garrisons had been sent to the Falas to help lord Círdan and more were getting ready.

Seven days after the first baneful signs had appeared north, the King, Findekáno, captains and stewards held a council that lasted for hours and hours and its income came without any surprise : the Noldor and the Sindar would once again raise their banners against the power of Angband and their main host would camp on the Ard-Galen, for they thought Morgoth had not yet unleash all his forces. They'd keep a closer watch on him, for the greatest blow would come fast, as the Orcish intrusions were mere ploys to distract them. And on a much more personal level - it seemed almost foolish to bother with what almost looked like a detail compared to the threat of Angband - it also meant Findekáno and Ilmië's wedding was to be postponed indefinitely. As long as battles were to be fought, there would be no talks of festivities.

Ilmië might have been upset, for barely a few heartbeats, but she soon was overwhelmed by greater worries. She'd have to let go Findekáno, take the risk to never see him coming back, and, worst of all, this undoubtedly was the first of many battles, the first of many partings. She felt gloomier than she would have liked and so she headed to what used to be her father's workshop, a place since bestowed to carpenters, but that remained empty most of the time. Ilmië settled there, on the same seat she sat in while lord Carmo handled sketches, plans and stones, and did what she did best, she sewed.

He found her easily enough and, as he had expected, her hands were busy for she was twisting grey wool into yarn, almost absentmindedly. Usually when she used a spindle, two or three maids assisted her, but Ilmië had prayed them to leave her alone after they had brought her her tools and a bit of food. She could not bear the sad glances they'd throw her every now and then and even though she knew they meant well, their sollicitude was unrequited.

\- Findekáno, she whispered as she rose.

The spindle rolled on the floor, ruining all her work, but none of them paid attention to it. He quickly took her hands in his and kissed her on the forehead.

\- Ilmië, tomorrow the greater part of our contingent will leave, we will march against Morgoth once more.

\- It was to be expected, I suppose, the defeats we inflicted him under the stars surely cannot have put a stop to his dark schemes.

Her sentence had been but a trite statement, something the other ladies often repeated whenever there were rumors of Orcish skirmishes.

\- Indeed, the threat has always been there, but this battle is different. For you and me, it also means we will wear these silver rings longer than we had wished for.

He brushed back behind her ear a loose strand of golden hair, then stroke gently her cheek.

\- It is an ill timed war, Ilmië, duty calls me away from you when we were about to seal our fates together. I...

She put a hand on his mouth and forced herself to smile.

\- I understand, Findekáno, you need not explain what being a prince of the Noldor implies in times like these.

He was deeply moved, for he saw the tears in her shiny eyes, and yet none rolled past the elegant barrier of her long lashes. He embraced her lovingly and shivered when she kissed him, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

\- On the battlefield, my mind has always been clear and no shadow ever threatened my heart, for I have always known this was where I had to be, he said, ardently searching for her lips. This battle I shall fight thinking of you and this future that lays ahead of us. I will be Morgoth's most fearsome enemy, I can assure you.

Ilmië stepped by back a little and looked at him intently, reflecting she was not at all acquainted with Findekáno the warlord, even though she had heard his deeds and his family's being sung.

\- I do not doubt you will honor your house's name, she finally told him, unable to smile anymore.

She was on the verge of crying, but she would hate herself if she were to weep in front of him. A prince had no need of a teary betrothed, but Findekáno felt himself burst with fondness for her, so much he almost prayed she'd sob in his arms so he could dry her tears one by one. But Ilmië was a strong lady, she drew forces from within and held on.

\- Go back to your father, I assume there is much left to discuss between the two of you, she muttered as she slowly pushed him away. Go, I shall see you once again on the morrow.

\- I love you, Ilmië, I love you so dearly.

He kissed both her hands, still staring at her, his bright grey eyes wide open.

\- I love you too, my prince, she answered, her voice slightly shaking.

* * *

The night was a short one, soon rosy aurora spread her sunny fingers and made her way through clouds and smoke. Ilmië was told Findekáno was at the armory and there was one last thing she had to settle with him, so she headed there, carrying a precious package. She made her way through a frantic crowd and eventually found him, surrounded by shields, helms, swords and bows. Findekáno seemed even taller than usual, clad as he was in his splendid armour, a long dark blue cloak floating behind him. Ilmië heard him giving out orders to the masters-at-arms and so she waited in a corner of this highly unfamiliar place. Swords could be fascinating items, when held by skilled and powerful beings, but without a hand to unsheathe them, they simply were cold, heavy, lifeless things, she reflected. However she had to admit weapons would be of a greater help to Findekáno against an army of Orcs than the beautiful but harmless banner she was bringing him.

\- You came, my beloved.

He looked down at the bundle she held.

\- You did weave one.

\- I did, last year. And with every motion of the loom, I prayed you'd be triumphant as long as you'd be carrying it.

Yet again he felt this intense pang, like the night before, but he stayed still.

\- It will be raised high and guide my troops, and I shall be proud to display it for its sight alone will scare the enemies away.

 _Please, do not seek needless danger_ , she thought, but this was a request too foolish to be voiced. She might have as well wished for fire not to burn.

\- May your strokes be the fiercest on the field, valiant one, she said as she handed him the banner.

\- I would not disappoint my lady.

He put a chaste kiss on her lips and escorted her out of the armory, out of this world of iron and mithril in which she did not belong. They parted in the courtyard, among busy infantrymen, his fingers brushed her hair one last time. He no more was her lover, he was a warlord dreaming of unparalleled deeds.

Ilmië promptly went back to her parlor, where Aglarwen, lady Lilassë and few maids were awaiting for her. They scarcely exchanged a few words till noon came and King Nolofinwë and Findekáno's armies set off. Ilmië felt oddly serene as she watched the hosts depart, these long columns of brave soldiers were an impressive sight to behold. Also, she did ponder, if King Nolofinwë's army had defeated Morgoth's troops under the stars, while they had barely set a foot in Beleriand, while they were still weakened by the crossing of the ice, surely this time they could no do worst? The Sun and the Moon would light their path, and the Noldor would fight together, grandsons of Míriel and son and grandsons of Indis alike. Moreover they had found precious allies among Sindarin populations. And so as treacherous as the Enemy's schemes might be, Ilmië deemed her people had a fair chance to win the battle, although she would not allow herself to wish for more.

\- If this can be of any consolation, lord Findekáno's banner shines brighter than any others, said lady Lilassë. You did a remarkable work, Ilmië.

\- This banner was the sole element I could exert any sort of control on, truly, she sighed. My own small intrusion in the upcoming battles...

Lady Lilassë agreed silently and her eyes did not leave the glistening armies : her husband was a captain riding alongside King Nolofinwë. But, surprisingly enough, Aglarwen was the one who looked most dreadfully distressed, her face had gone white and her pretty eyes had lost all their mirth. Although she was wrapped in a grey mantle, she shivered.

\- Aglarwen, my friend, you seem horribly unwell, ushed Ilmië. Tell me what causes you such sadness, or if you'd rather rest, go back to your chambers, for there is nothing to be done as of now.

\- Oh, Ilmië, how could I complain to you, when you so bravely consent to let lord Fingon depart for battle...

Aglarwen threw herself in Ilmië's arms and let out tears she had been holding back for a long time.

\- One's grief can hardly be measured, but yours seems more devastating than mine, at the very least, said Ilmië, gently stroking her friend's back. Do not conceal anything from me, my dear, what is amiss?

\- I also let the one I love leave and even if he were to be victorious, I have no hope he will ever come back to me.

\- Pray, my friend, who is he... ?

\- Lord Angrod, it is lord Angrod...

* * *

 **Amilessë** is the mother-name, it often seems to be a bit more personalized that the father-name (In Fingon's case, it seems his mother-name is unknown actually...).

I realized they had not said yet 'I love you' to one another, well they did, they're betrothed, but it hadn't appeared in the text so far.


	9. Chapter 8

Here we go, all credits to Tolkien, as usual.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 **60 Y.S. (End of Summer, beginning of Fall)**

Lord Carmo had arrived in Barad Eithel while battle was still raging north, although it seemed the Elves would be victorious for word was already spreading that Morgoth main strike on Dorthonion had failed. Lord Carmo had arrived through Cirith Ninniach, by boat, in fact he had followed a contingent sent by lord Círdan in case if more troops had been required on the Ard-Galen. He was not himself a great fighter, although he did certainly know how to be of use when under attack, and only meant to reach his daughter for he despised the idea of being away from her and she had refused to go south, to the Falas. He had been told she had spent a few days in Sindarin settlements, on the other side of the Ered Wethrin, but had soon grown restless and had gone back to Barad Eithel.

Once in the fortress, lord Carmo had not been surprised to find that Ilmië was as she had always been, bent over a tambour frame, completely absorbed by her work and surrounded by many ladies and maids. There was barely a hint of worry in her grey sparkling eyes, although her father knew how relieved she was to see him. Ilmië had not been expecting him at all and he had come in unannounced, his entrance causing a small commotion among his daughter's companions. And when father and daughter stood alone, Ilmië threw herself in her his arms and her embrace was tight. _I should have been here earlier_ , thought lord Carmo, _and where shall I be next time?_

\- The news from the north are good beyond any expectation, said he said, as the two of them were sitting in Ilmië's boudoir. The King may be heading back here sooner than we could have imagined and we might even celebrate your wedding before winter.

\- There is no need to discuss frilly laces and fancy food, the fights are not over yet.

\- Indeed, but there is hope.

Ilmië smiled.

\- Father, do not be too concerned about me, I lack for nothing.

\- As you say, dearest, he said as he took her hands in his. It might just be that I fancy myself being essential to your well being.

\- You are, father, she declared, in a heartfelt tone.

\- I should have assumed Aglarwen keeps you well entertained, even though I did not see her among the ladies who were sewing with you. Do the needles still give her troubles?

\- Oh, father, Aglarwen is quite affected by the ongoing battle and you may find her in a wearier state than she has ever been in.

Lord Carmo's brow furrowed, he hardly could picture Aglarwen being worried as laughters preceded her everywhere she went to.

\- Perhaps she should go back to the Falas and stay with her kin, Hithlum may not suit her anymore.

\- It ought to help, yet I fear it won't suffice.

Ilmië and Aglarwen had shared bed often lately and had spent nights in endless conversations about their respective lives, before Morgoth's horrible deeds changed forever the course of Arda's history. Dwelling in happy memories had proved to be the best remedy to the Sindarin Elf's sorrows and Ilmië believed her friend would rapidly regain her usual merry mood once the fights would be over. And she also thought - and it was a bit unwise of her - that lord Angaráto's decision to never meet Aglarwen again might be reconsidered in the light of a glorious victory.

\- Then she shall travel with me when I will make my way back to the Falas, decided lord Carmo, but there is much left to do before we get to set our eyes again on the Great Sea.

\- And what exactly will you do, father, till then? asked Ilmië, knowing very well her father became restless when his hands were not busy, just like her.

\- Would that I build a new tower, the King would be pleased by this sight.

But lord Carmo would not have time to undertake any vast project, as, the day after his arrival in Barad Eithel, messengers came through the Ard-Galen and brought new tidings from the front. The Elves not only had won the battle, their cavalry had also pursued the enemies all the way north, almost before the gates of Angband. Already songs carried these great news around and this victory would be remembered as the Dagor Aglareb, the glorious battle. Even the less optimistic ones could not help but rejoiced, for Morgoth's defeat seemed complete. The troops were on their way back to Barad Eithel, already the first banners could be spotted from far away and it was only a matter of days till they were to make their entrance in the fortress.

* * *

\- For a maiden waiting for her betrothed to return from war, you do seem calm, remarked lord Carmo as he was inspecting one of the walls of the stables.

The castellan had said the Grand Squire contemplated the idea of enlarging the building, for their herds had grown larger and stronger, and lord Carmo had instantly felt compelled to have a look at the edifice. And as he was running his hands on the stone, completely oblivious of the horses who were watching him with curiosity and who would nibble at his clothes, Ilmië trailed him, like she had always done when she was younger. And it would not have overly surprised him if his younger daughter had burst in, her long dark hair floating behind her, for it had always been this way in Aman.

\- I am not as calm as I would like to, if truth be told, she admitted. I'm afraid, father, that the pleasure of your company was not the only reason I left behind my sewing and the other ladies. I could not focus on my stitches and they kept repeating the same things over and over, Orcs, fights, victory...

\- And so you sought after your poor father for some distraction.

\- You or the horses, she said as she scratched a foal's head.

The little creature stared at them with its big brown eyes, clumsily moving around on legs that were yet too long for it.

\- The Ard-Galen's grass does them great good, commented lord Carmo, as he straightened up and glanced at the dozen horses surrounding him and his daughter. Soon they will claim the land for themselves, don't you agree?

\- I hope they will turn out to be generous overlords.

Ilmië knew one of the fillies was Nórimanna's granddaughter, but she was still too young to be mounted.

\- The Grand Squire will indeed need to extend the stables, was Lord Carmo's conclusion and he was about to explain to his daughter what works he would recommend when the morning's peaceful calm was suddenly disrupted by the sound of a horn.

The horses raised their heads, their ears stretched, but they remained relaxed. The guards of Barad Eithel answered the call, and Ilmië and her father understood the troops were back.

\- Come, we will have a better view if we climb the eastern wall, said lord Carmo, sweeping away his daughter.

* * *

It was a fairly long procession, in the shape of what seemed to be an ever stretching line, and only sharp spears, shiny helms and flowing banners stood out in this stirring mass. The cavalry came in first, on strong horses whose necks were proudly arched, and these had fearlessly ridden far north, chasing Orcs before Morgoth's black stronghold walls. Infantrymen looked equally intrepid and they marched to the sound of horns and drums, their striking music long echoed within the fortification of Barad Eithel. On a magnificent platform, set before the huge gates of the King's tower, the castellan as well as the captain in charge of the garrison stationed in the fortress, were awaiting their overlords to greet them officially. King Nolofinwë and Findekáno had made their appearance among the riders, and a great clamor had welcome them, but they had dismounted their steeds when the last of their soldier had safely passed the walls.

Lord Carmo had never witnessed such a potent military display, for in Aman the Noldor would have never acted so boldly - not even Fëanor's people - and the battle of Lammoth had been a quick and harsh fight that had taken place before their kingdoms were created. Despite this impressive sight and the fresh confidence many acquired from the victory, lord Carmo felt unsettled. He thought it was probably how a mason should feel in front of arms and armours, for these terrible tools were designed to destroy and he, the craftsman, devoted his life to creation. He hoped his restlessness was due to a mere discrepancy in trades, yet he could not bring himself to share entirely the others' cheerfulness.

By his side, his daughter had also been absorbed in contemplation, at least until Findekáno made his entrance, then she searched for her father's hand and grabbed it tightly - a sign of great inner turmoil.

\- You weaved him a somptuous banner, he said, as he entwined his fingers with hers. I expected no less of you, I suppose.

\- Mother would have done much better, I know.

\- Your lovely mother never had to weave a war banner.

His words were tinged with a bitterness he never could hold in whenever he spoke of his wife. Ilmië felt it and she squeezed his hand.

\- We should be glad they are safe in Aman.

\- And thankful you and I have each other.

Ilmië's face lightened up with a broad smile and such tenderness filled lord Carmo's heart that he forgot the disquiet the parade had caused him. However he was not done with warfare, for a steward came to seek him and his daughter, as both of them were summoned in the King's parlor to take part in some private festivities.

* * *

Findekáno and Ilmië both excelled at concealing their eagerness, yet lord Carmo knew what to look for and, here and there, he was able to detect the faintest signs of a painful longing. Whenever she caught a break in conversation, his daughter would let out a discreet sigh and if her hands held no cup, she kept twisting her fingers nervously - most guests assumed it was a natural gesture for a skilled seamstress. Findekáno played his part remarkably well, he had praises for every captain and steward and seemed to recall the battle in its smallest details, graciously filling in any story being told. But as he went from one Elf to another he kept brushing against Ilmië, no matter where she stood, and lord Carmo even caught him stealing one of the ribbon adorning his daughter's dress.

He could not blame them, for they were trapped to mingle around one another without really being allowed to be together, and this while every other soldier could reunite with his loved ones in the quiet intimacy of their households. But inside the King's parlor etiquette commanded modesty and the two betrotheds had not choice but to endure this lengthy and formal evening, and they only found some solace through a few prolonged loving gazes.

It was not in lord Carmo's power to provide them any relief, he himself felt out of place in this assembly where his presence had only being required because his daughter was the prince's bride-to-be. As a craftsman, he was more at ease in a workshop, or outdoor, among his men and his stones. And though he was always happy to share some of his lore over a good dinner, King Nolofinwë's warlords were quite a different crowd from the sailors of lord Círdan. Moreover, the battle was the only topic they cared for and the poor mason was at loss until his King came to the rescue.

\- Lord Carmo, this little gathering must be a strenuous task for you? I assume it is not of great interest to be told the same tale over and over from so many different mouths?

\- To each his own personal breakdown and altogether the picture gets more accurate, answered lord Carmo pleasantly. Although I have to admit I can not fully grasp the fury of the fight, for I myself never took part in one.

\- Then let me confess towers hold secrets that I may never unravel, said the King. You would know yourself, since you have tried on several occasions to enlighten me on the matter.

\- But my King has always asked me such clever questions, I would not doubt you have long mastered the basics of architecture.

They both laughed as if they recalled a same particular event, and Findekáno took advantage of this pause to step in the discussion.

\- Lord Carmo, when exactly did you reach Barad Eithel? Orcs went as far as the Falas, our roads have not been safe.

\- It has been seven days, and then we already knew the battle would surely be won by our side.

\- You might have come through some unfortunate encounter on your way here.

\- Perhaps, yet I came by boat and landed in Cirith Ninniach, and never was I bothered by Morgoth's minions, hopefully, explained lord Carmo, although he had understood the Prince was only mildly interested by his journey. I presumed it would be more convenient for me to reach my daughter, than to try to convince her to come south.

\- Indeed, and I thank you, at times, this fortress is a rather gloomy place to be at.

\- It is but natural for a father to be concerned by his child's well being, however I am sure you faced your own struggles, lord Findekáno.

That is when King Nolofinwë had his epiphany, his glance went from lord Carmo, to his son and to Ilmië, at last.

\- Findekáno, the maps stored in your solar offer a thorough view of our lands, wouldn't it be more entertaining for lady Ilmië if you were to show her our maneuvers using these?

\- I do not doubt she will be delighted.

Lord Carmo saw Findekáno swiftly stride toward his daughter, and how delicately he put his hand on her shoulder. A soft light warmed his grey eyes when he whispered a few words to her ear, as his fingers traced the lace covering her back, and a pretty shade of pink covered Ilmië's cheeks. Without even looking at him, she excused herself to the ones she was conversing with and curtsied, ready to promptly follow Findekáno anywhere he would lead her to. Alas, the Prince had to answer a few last questions, and exchanged courtesies, and while he did so, Ilmië seized one of his loose hair strand, gently pulling it. Ultimately, both of them were free to leave the parlor and they did not even dare touching each other until they were out of sight of everyone.

\- Lord Carmo, do you know what crosses my mind when I see these two together?

\- Please do tell me, your Grace.

\- Despite my better judgement, I pray they will give me a vigorous and chaotic flock of grandchildren, said King Nolofinwë with a dreamy expression. I may be called a High King of the Noldor, yet as a father I am a desesperate fool.

\- So am I, it seems, said lord Carmo, for he nurtured the same thought.

* * *

They had ended up running to the solar and were slightly out of breath when they finally closed the door behind them. They giggled like children who had just pulled a good prank, but soon they remembered they were alone, just the two of them, finally. Findekáno cupped Ilmië's face in his hands and stepped forward, until she was caught between him and the wooden door. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and her lips, but for a few seconds, no more. Then he resumed his contemplation of her lovely features, for she had inherited much of her maternal kin's fairness.

\- I have not told you often enough how beautiful you are, he breathed. How these jewel-like eyes of yours haunt my dreams, how your hands set my skin afire whenever you touch me, how...

\- Battle has set your tongue loose, has it not? What could possibly...

But Findekáno did not wait for her to finish her sentence, he kissed her and never had their embrace been so hasty, since their parting had been more painful than usual. His hands slid down her neck, held her shoulders for a while, then tracked the fine lines of the lace sewn onto her bodice. Soon his mouth followed, he covered her white throat with a profusion of light kisses and proceeded lower and lower, but before he became too audacious, and before she herself lost all will, Ilmië stopped him.

\- Maps, we should be looking at maps, she laughed.

\- The territories I fancy to explore have surely not been outlined yet.

Ilmië's eyes rounded with surprise at his daring allusion. She was not so innocent as to have no notion of what lust was and what it may lead to, however Findekáno had not yet made such a direct allusion a their mutual growing desire.

\- Have I shocked you, dearest? Might it be that a few weeks in the wild, battling Orcs, have turned me into a tactless individual? he teased, between two kisses.

\- You did not shock me, you... tempted me... she conceded in a husky voice that sounded strange to her ears.

Findekáno froze for a while and this time he was the startled one.

\- We might need maps, indeed, he said, gradually releasing her from his hold. Awfully complicated ones, recording every pebble, every blade of grass...

\- I knew not I could so easily lose my mind, whispered Ilmië, feeling a bit dizzy.

It was a rather pleasant sensation, she thought.

\- Neither did I, Findekáno admitted, though his handsome face wore an unusual smug expression. I never expected geography to trigger such desires.

Reluctantly, he let go Ilmië and began browsing through the shelves in search of specific work he knew to be a highly tedious reading. Once he found it, he settled in his favorite seat, a wide and comfy armchair, and spread the roll on the table, in front of him.

\- Come, I will share a few curious tales with you.

And so Ilmië sat on his lap, her arms around his neck, his around her waist, and it seemed to both of them that nothing could be sweeter than this gentle proximity.

\- Oh, there is a little something I meant to show you.

He rummaged through one of his jacket's pocket and produced a handkerchief, one Ilmië recognized at once, for she had given it to him the night they had confessed their love for one another, in Tol-Sirion.

\- You do carry it, she exclaimed.

\- Always. Your banner is displayed openly, but this I keep close to my heart as a private reminder of your love.

They smiled fondly at each other and, cuddling a bit closer, they did have a look at maps, and Findekáno told many stories, in a soft and low voice, like an autumn wind playing in the leaves.

They would long remember this night as one of their tenderest moment together.

* * *

I've been working on a chapter starring only Aglarwen/Angrod, but I am still not sure about their story's outcome, so I'll publish it later.

And I read about Eldar's height, and as I suspected Fingon was most likely around 7'/2m13, like most males in his family, which means Ilmië, while being probably around at least 1m85/6'1", is much smaller than he is. And on a personal note, I also learned I was barely taller than a Dwarf, this is a bit depressing haha (no offense to Dwarves, but their ladies had beards!).


	10. Chapter 9

This one and the betrothal chapter were the hardest somehow.

In my head the elven ladies are wearing dresses from Elie Saab F/W 2015... :D or the starry/flowery dresses from Valentino F/W 2015! Not that I'm really into haute couture, but this time it fits.

Credit goes to Tolkien.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 **61 Y.S. Spring, lake Mithrim**

Westward the last rays of sun still lingered in the sky, but already stars lightened up one by one and the smooth surface of lake Mithrim reflected these pretty celestial gems. Near the banks, where flat circular stones provided fortuitous paths through the crystal clear water, small white lanterns had been scattered and the swans inhabiting the area paddled around them, unconsciously adding to the beauty of the scenery. Long tables and a single marquee, made of vaporous muslin and birch wood, were the only furnitures to have been set up in anticipation of the feast, as the bride and groom relied more on what nature could offer them, than on any other device. Birds provided the sweetest music, flowers and butterflies added patch of colors and at dusk a swarm of fireflies brighten up the location Findekáno and Ilmië had chosen to celebrate their wedding.

They had not themselves arrived yet, as they had gone in the woods to exchange vows in front of their fathers, but they were expected any time soon and guests had already taken place in their seats. Quite a noble crowd had been assembled, although not too numerous, for Findekáno, of all Finwë's descendants, was probably the one who was most unanimously loved and respected by his kin - he did get along with everyone. And on the edge of the lake, Maitimo and Ristion had been assigned nearby seats. It had been decades since they had seen each other, yet they still felt comfortable around one another and their greetings were sincerely warm.

\- Lord Ristion, I did not have the pleasure of meeting you since you moved to Vinyamar, said Maitimo. I assume you have fared well.

\- I did, it is kind of you to inquire, answered Ristion. I sometimes wish my uncle and my cousin would dwell with me, but it seems different paths lie ahead of us.

\- Hopefully, many memories have you shared together before you parted.

\- Oh, lord Maitimo, do not expect the times I spent with Ilmië to be as thrilling as those you spent with lord Findekáno, laughed Ristion. I can not recall how often she and her sister made me sit still for hours, holding out yarn that they would spin. Since I am younger than both of them, for a long time I could hardly fight back and was used over and over like some domestic tool against my will.

\- Indeed, having grown up with six brothers, these are issues I never had to face, admitted Maitimo, laughing along. Although my friendship with Findekáno might be lacking a few knitting sessions.

\- It does not, do trust me my Lord.

\- I'm afraid I would be utterly inept at handling needles, anyhow.

\- Swords and needles are not as unlike as one may think, for they both tend to pierce nastily through the skin, explained Ristion, still smiling. My dear cousin's hands, though pale and lovely, appear to have been made out of the thickest leather, I never once saw her bleed and the tip of her fingers has oft been under attack.

\- Lady Ilmië may be a seasoned seamstress, yet I shall remain one-handed and unfit for meticulous works.

Ristion could not help but look at Maitimo's stump and this brought him back to the times he assisted his uncle during the construction of Barad Eithel. The terrible visions from their crossing over the Helcaraxë were fresh in his mind then - he had lost his sister in the cruel ice, and his father had died not long after - and Ristion had been hostile to the Fëanorian's presence in their workshop although he had kept down his opinion on the matter. Weeks, months passed by, allowing Ristion to watch Maitimo up close, and at last he had deemed his original reluctance to be unfair. In his mind, Fëanor's eldest son was progressively set apart from the rest of his family and from an abstract being he became a real person that had suffered unspeakable tortures, an Elf whom Ristion wished would heal, for he needed to believe Morgoth's powers could be overcome. And what had been dislike and distrust turned into admiration, and even friendship, especially after Ristion had heard Maitimo had not taken part in the burning of the ships.

\- Lord Maitimo, I am deeply honored we are now kin through our cousins' marriage, finally said Ristion.

The compliment took Maitimo by surprise, he rarely received any praise outside of his household, or of his brothers'. Moreover, Ristion's face suddenly wore a solemn expression, and Maitimo felt so touched he struggled to find the right words to thank him. He had blurted out a quick "thank you" when he was interupted by Findekáno and Ilmië's arrival, that was signaled by an enthusiastic round of applause.

Husband and wife looked splendid, both of them sporting their own set of colors. Findekáno was clad in dark blue and silver, his refined attire brought out his bright complexion and noble features. The well defined line of his jaw and his sharp and high cheekbones made him look mighty, yet a smile curling up his lips and sparkles in his grey eyes softened the strength he exuded. A golden circlet adorned his brow, and he wore it with as much majesty as his father, and around his neck was hung a finely crafted necklace inlaid with sapphires - a gift from lord Carmo. His long dark brown hair was neatly braided, entwined with silver and gold threads, and the plaits formed an elegant crown his sister had patiently created.

Ilmië had never been so radiant, and perhaps she caused the greatest surprise when she made her appearance, her arm linked to her husband's. Even in smaller assemblies she never was one to attract attention and although since her betrothal to Findekáno her name had often been mentioned here and there, she had remained a discreet figure. To many it seemed they were seeing her for the first time, a dazzling silhouette wrapped in white, beige and gold, gliding gracefully and beaming with such candor that lanterns seemed pale in comparison. Her pretty heart-shaped face was frame by waves of golden hair and she too wore delicate jewelry, yet her eyes shone more vividly than any gem.

The two of them took place at the center of the main table, by their side were their fathers, and after a few wishes were pronounced, dinner began.

\- This golden ring around her finger has put some spell on her, even her skin glitters... muttered Ristion to himself, and Maitimo silently agreed.

* * *

When plates had been emptied, and cups filled again with delicious drinks, the vast majority of guests were immersed in conversation and the mood was merry indeed. King Nolofinwë was doting on Itarillë and he liked to complain he did not see her often enough while he fed her with freshly baked honey cakes and various other sweets. Írissë had reunited with her favourite cousins - some, who did not bear the sons of Fëanor in their hearts, suspected Tyelkormo and Curufinwë had only made it to Hithlum to meet her - and they had much to tell each other, as usual. Lord Carmo and Círneth had relocated next to Findaráto with whom they talked of caves and gardens, of grey and green, and Ilmië's father could only express his regrets not to be able to see Menegroth with his own eyes. Ristion and Aglarwen stood not far from them, listening to Aikanáro who delighted them with many tales of his childhood adventures with Findekáno. Truth be told, Aglarwen had been disappointed at first when she had seen Findaráto was accompanied by his youngest brother, and not by Angaráto, whom she had anxiously expected. But melancholia did not suit her well, and her flamboyant self felt home in the midst of festivities, thus she had happily taken part in the preparations and even brought together a choir of Falathrim, some of the finest voices from the havens.

Their first song was the cue for dancers to gather : Findekáno and Ilmië opened the ball and though many joined them afterwards, none twirled with a bliss matching the newlyweds'. Long did they dance, gazing at each other, oblivious of their surroundings, as if they were trying to get the measure of their happiness. But, far from being moved by this display of love, their friends and families would not let them be so selfish and Itarillë, with her father's help, took hold of her uncle while it was Maitimo who seized the bride, his tall stature having been an undeniable asset when he had pushed aside other suitors.

\- You are glowing, Ilmië, perhaps your maids have dipped you and your clothes in honey? teased Maitimo, as they started swirling around.

\- Honey... how did you find out? My mother used to call me Lís, a long time ago.

\- Lís? It does suit you well, I shall remember that.

\- I am married now, shouldn't it be my husband's privilege to make use of such a sweet nickname?

\- If I word it nicely enough, I am sure Findekáno would prove generous and grant me some special permission.

Maitimo's mood was excellent, he had always been one to relish festivities, although most of this genuine glee he had left behind him in Aman. Yet at times, he still had the capacity for entertainment and as he foresaw it would soon completely leave him, he did not like to overlook opportunities to celebrate.

\- I wonder if there is anything he'd dare refuse you, laughed Ilmië.

\- Not much, I reckon, said Maitimo with a mischievous smile.

They danced a bit more and it was already time for them to part. Írissë caught Maitimo, a somehow not so unpleasant capture, and when Ilmië turned around she found herself face to face with lord Turukáno who was her freshly new brother-in-law.

She was not well acquainted with him, although she had stayed in Vinyamar and heard much about him from his siblings, and from her own cousin. Ristion seemed to have put his faith in lord Turukáno, like her father had done with King Nolofinwë when they had left Aman, and held him in high regard. Írissë had chosen to dwell with him by the Great Sea, and she had often said the fire within him was softer than his father or his elder brother's, though no less powerful when battle was raging. Ilmië too thought he was less of a warlord and more of a wise ruler, yet she did not doubt his valor. Less fierce than Findekáno might he be, taller he stood, and a welcoming smile brightened his gentle face. It was natural, if not customary, for lord Turukáno to ask the bride for a dance, nonetheless Ilmië was surprised to see him approached her, both his hands extended, palms turned upward. And before she knew it, he was guiding her steps with effortless ease.

\- No one ever told me you were such a skillful dancer, lord Turukáno, she exclaimed.

His smile broadened at her words.

\- Now that we are kin, shall we be more familiar with one another, Ilmië?

\- It would be a pleasure.

\- I must confess I am relieved there will be a lady in Hithlum, for I was afraid it was rather selfish of me to keep both Itarillë and Írissë with me in Vinyamar.

\- I might never stand on par with your daughter and your sister, said Ilmië with sincere modesty, but I will certainly do my best to honor your family.

Turukáno laughed softly.

\- Oh, I trust you will, he said, but it'd be an even greater achievement if you could soften my brother's sternness. What I see today is already quite promising.

Findekáno could be seen revolving hand in hand with his niece and he had this carefree look on his face he used to have when he knew no worries, in the Undying Lands. He was exactly like that when Ilmië had first saw him and loved him.

\- I do not recall seeing you dance much in Vinyamar, and neither Itarillë and Írissë spared any effort to cheer you, said Ilmië giggling a little. You can not be so different from your brother.

\- My wife herself used to go through much trouble when time came to rejoice during festivals and more than once had she to drag me along, for I tend to observe more than I take part in. She was very fond of dancing and my daughter took after her in that aspect... and in many others, said Turukáno as his eyes lingered on Ilmië's golden hair.

\- Should I assume then that today you are making an exception?

\- It is a unique occasion, be sure to enjoy it while it lasts.

He chuckled and added:

\- We do love blonde hair best, it seems. It must run in the family.

Ilmië flushed, not realizing he meant to jest.

\- I will have to keep a close eye on Laurëfindil, were he to get too close to Írissë we might end up completely overwhelmed, kept teasing Turukáno.

They laughed together and Ilmië felt two hands press on her shoulders.

\- Lord Turukáno, may I borrow my cousin? I'm afraid your own sister calls for your presence by her side, she claims the last time you ever care to dance with her your daughter wasn't even born, said Ristion as he put a kiss on Ilmië's cheek. At least, these were her words...

Ilmië and her partner slowed down their motions and Turukáno replied, with a grin:

\- I should go before she starts spreading more false rumours on my behalf.

He swiftly bowed and headed toward Írissë who was happily waving at him.

\- She is probably not so far from the truth, we almost never see Lord Turukáno dance or hear him sing, said Ristion. And so, my Lady, shall we show this gallant assembly the very definition of grace and majesty?

\- We have some dashing competitors tonight, I hope your skills haven't gone rusty in Vinyamar.

\- Do not worry, Círneth makes certain I remain a most accomplished fellow.

Ristion would wed his betrothed within the next few years and seemed to have cast away all doubts concerning matrimony.

\- Do you remember we both thought we'd never find such happiness in these lands?

\- I do. But do not fool yourself, dear cousin, your sister told me long ago you had fallen for Findekáno and I never quite believed you when you told me you had never given marriage any thought, said Ristion, sniggering.

Ilmië pretended to be indignant and her cousin kissed her on the forehead, seeking her forgiveness.

\- You did well no to refuse such bliss, my sweet Ilmië.

* * *

The feast was still going on outside, but Findekáno and Ilmië had deemed it was time for them to retrieve to their chamber and had found a way to escape the eager crowd - no one would have denied them some privacy in the end. They had been assigned even larger apartments than the King, and from the large windows they could enjoy a beautiful view of the lake and its still and smooth surface, like a polished mirror. Lights from outside softly radiated in the vast room, bringing out the pure white of the furniture, yet nothing was brighter than the newlyweds' eyes and for a while they gazed at each other, in silence. No words could express how they felt at this moment and they wouldn't waste their breath when a simple touch of the hand could effectively convey their feelings.

Findekáno moved first and he took off his circlet, his bracelets, the necklace Lord Carmo had offered him and two rings he usually wore, so that the only remaining jewel on him was his golden wedding ring, on his forefinger. Next he proceeded to unbraid his hair, carefully, and this gesture amused Ilmië.

\- Do you intend to comb it as well? she teased, as she ran her fingers in his locks.

\- Should I? he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She shook her head.

\- No, help me with my own jewels please.

He readily complied, though with no haste, as he went through her ornaments with great care, leaving a kiss here and there on his way. When he was done, Ilmië rested her head against his chest, her eyes closed, inhaling his fresh scent. She felt whole and utterly contented, her body pleasantly warming up against his, and she knew Findekáno was in a similar state of mind, for his breath was deep and steady.

\- I hardly can believe we are married, she whispered, it seems only yesterday I was still watching you from afar.

\- Would that I had noticed you earlier, dearest, he said, bending his head to kiss her.

His fingers kept running up and down her back, lower and lower, and she held him tight, praying for times like these to last forever.

\- Findekáno, I am truly happy in this moment, she said, staring at him with her beautiful starry eyes.

And he, he had never adored her with such force. Yet he did not tell her, he simply kissed her again, putting all his trust in his lips and hands to make Ilmië understand just how much she was desired. It did take him some discipline not to overthrow her on the bed and rip apart her dresses - Findekáno knew his wife had worked hard and long on her garments - and he soon discovered it was a rather luscious and satisfying sensation to remove her layers one by one until her soft skin was bare. Pleasure grew even greater while his own clothes were discarded by her skilled fingers and it sent shivers down his spine. Before focusing completely on his wife, the last thing Findekáno glimpsed were dark brown strands mingling with blonde hair on the crumpled bed sheets.

* * *

Laurëfindil = Glorfindel, and as you might have guessed lís means honey in Quenya.

I'm bit of a hair fetishist ^^;;; the reason why Ilmië has blonde hair is pretty much only because Findekáno has dark hair. I have a thing for couples with different hair color...


	11. Chapter 10

The story is taking a huge leap forward because Elves live way longer than us, and because peace is nice, but peace is a bit boring too. So the second part of the story will take place after the arrival of Men in Beleriand.

Also since dear Thingol didn't want to hear any Quenya and Noldor progressively switched to Sindarin, from now on I'll mostly use Sindarin names (Ilmië will become Gilmiel). It feels a bit weird, I like the "ië/ë" and "o" endings better.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 **322 Y.S.**

Years, decades, centuries spent together had made Fingon and Gilmiel grown more and more alike one another, whether it was that their facial expressions had become alike or that they needed very little words to understand each other. Gilmiel had seen Fingon ride forth to a few more battles and even if she had always been anxious for his return, she had also come to share some of his exaltation. Only once had she really feared for his life, when Glaurung the Great Worm had been set loose on the Ard-Galen, yet she had been proud for none but him would have so readily challenged the Dragon, thus sparing many lives and giving courage to his people. They said it was since this sortie that Gilmiel sometimes called her husband Beremor, the bold one, but she had long chosen this name for him, as his boundless bravery pushed him ever forward. And he, who loved dearly his wife, called her Glíves, his honey woman, as her glowing presence sweetened his very soul. When unnecessary, he despised parting with her and Gilmiel often followed Fingon during his travels, for wherever she was he always felt at home. And so she was part of the journey he made to Estolad, where for the first time they met Men.

* * *

Gilmiel held the chieftain Baran's two young sons in her arms and although between them communication was rudimentary, they laughed and happily exchanged kisses. Children were what she had noticed first upon their arrival at the encampment in Estolad, for never had she seen so many of them at the same time, all so tiny and round-faced. It was hard to tell who had been most amazed at first : Gilmiel had only dismounted and already a flock of small chesnut heads had gathered, keeping a respectful distance from her. Since Estolad was part of Amrod and Amras's lands and these were not heavily populated, Men had not yet met many Elves, and even less those of the Eldar whose eyes shone with the lights of the trees. Hence the children had witnessed with great curiosity the oncoming of Fingon and his cortege and they had quickly approached the ladies, drawn to them by their gentle beauty. Baran's sons had been among the youngest present there and so they also had been the ones less concerned with ranks and protocol, stepping forward Gilmiel and greeting her in a language she could not understand. Yet seconds later she was holding both of them and would not let them go, despite their mother protesting that it was not courteous at all to stain the lady's garb with mud and grass.

Fingon, whose mighty appearance made him not so popular with young ones, was given a very different welcome, a formal one that suited his status. Elves of the Estolad had been waiting for him, as well as Baran, the chieftain of the Bëorians, and Marach, whose folk was the largest in number and had been the last to come in Beleriand. A modest feast had been prepared and the leaders of Men deemed they were poor hosts, but Fingon was not one to seek luxury, for when guests were warmly received, a long table set under the stars and fresh ale pleased him as much as any refined food he had ever tasted in Valinor. And this first evening among Men was a merry one, full of surprises for both parties, and eventually Gilmiel left Fingon's side as the kids lined up to beg her to join them in their games.

When dinner had ended, Fingon found her sitting near a large fire, surrounded by many children and seeing a few blonde heads, he could tell that some belonged to the people of Marach. They were singing songs, in either Sindarin or in one of the languages of Men, and a tiny fellow, no older than three, had fallen asleep on Gilmiel's lap, while two little girls had set to braid her long hair, in a cute, but rather messy fashion. It was hard to tell who was most enjoying themselves, and this was perhaps the best way to create lasting bounds between Elves and Men. But this sight woke up in Fingon's heart a longing that had nothing to do with politics, and as he gazed at his wife, at her broad smile, he dreamed of their child, one he and Gilmiel would conceive. Never had he before let his mind wander this far and his fantasy became so vivid, as if he could have walked into it and touch the infant's soft hair. Fingon did not know anymore what was part of his imagination, and what might be glimpses of the future, and he hoped his wife would help sort out these confusing impressions.

He and Gilmiel had oft discussed about the possibility of having children, but always had they come to conclusion that as long as the threat of Morgoth lurked north, Beleriand was not safe enough for them to raise a family. And neither of them had forgotten the echoing words Mandos had pronounced and, like many of the exiles, they feared the Doom would affect their descendants as well. Yet we are now the one besieging Angband, thus... thought Fingon for the first time.

When the first stars started to appear in the sky, the little ones were picked up by their parents and Gilmiel, after having bid them a good night, headed where she had seen Fingon stand, next to one of the large huts Men had built. He was leaning against a wooden wall and his tall silhouette was concealed in darkness, with the exception of his eyes who shone ever brightly. Gilmiel wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest, as she liked to do when the two of them were alone.

\- I did not expect to spend the evening in such good company, she said, laughing softly.

\- Seldom have I seen you so merry, my love, he said, untying some of the knots the little girls had made while experimenting new styles with her hair.

\- Seldom have I met a child, and never more than two at a time!

The thrill in her voice made him smile.

\- Glíves, it crossed my mind... when I saw you with them...

He let his voice trail, he dared not say out loud his silly desire, yet she knew what he meant.

\- I'd be lying if I were to say I did not think of it myself, she said, but unlike Fingon she had not allowed herself to go further.

\- It occured to me that, since Glaurung has been defeated on the Ard-Galen, we are the ones keeping a watch on the Enemy. Should this siege last, should our forces not dither, we might be able to reconsider some of our... projects.

\- My beloved, your deeds did much to keep Morgoth and his creatures at bay, yet the iron fortress stands still up there, and the war is not over, said Gilmiel, and as the words left her mouth she felt sorry to remind him so.

Fingon's expression hardened and his hands stopped playing with her locks.

\- And we are outcasts, he said in a dark tone. Only if we defeat Morgoth can we hope to earn the Valar's forgiveness.

\- What happened tonight? What have you seen? She asked, wondering why his mood had turned so sullen.

\- Our child, or so I reckon, he whispered, bending his head so his lips brushed her hair. I fear I did not foresee the future, but merely gave a form to one of my dearest wish.

\- It is only natural that your thoughts have strayed, there were a dozen of young ones around the fire, she told him, stroking his cheeks. And do not forget, we have not given up on having children, we simply agreed to wait.

Fingon remained silent, but he hugged her and she could feel his breath against the skin of her nape. He could not quite put aside the fleeting vision he had had, this small toddler with silky dark brown hair - whether it was a boy or a girl, he would have been unable to tell - who was laughing such a crystal clear laugh. He did not believe his senses had deceived him with a mere fantasy and his wife knew it also, for she shared his yearning. But she felt much less confident than he, and, if they were ever to become parents, she dreaded the day Fingon would leave her and the child to go on a battle. And she remembered too well that _to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well_.

* * *

Fingon and Gilmiel stayed a little longer than a month in Estolad and a few days after their arrival, they met with the chieftains of Men and with Amrod and Amras who had come back from Himring. The twins had inherited their mother's auburn hair, like Maedhros, and whenever they decided to clad themselves in similar outfits it was useless to try to distinguish one from the other. That day Amrod wore emerald green, while Amras had chosen dark blue, and they hardly could hide their pleasure to see Fingon. But the cousins barely had time to mention the hunt party they hoped to go on the next day, for their little reunion had nothing to do with deers and boars. King Fingolfin had bid his son to probe in Estolad, as it seemed, according to what Finrod had reported, that Men were worthy of their attention and could prove unexpected allies against the powers of Angband.

What Fingon had observed so far did confirm these first reports and he had quickly realized unoccupied lands in Mithrim and Dor-Lómin could provide new homes for Men, if such an offer were to appeal to them. Their settlements in Estolad were yet insufficient and he had in mind to make an offer to their leaders, a first step that could later lead to a greater alliance between their people. And once everyone was seated and proper greetings had been gone through, Fingon went straight to the point.

\- Several young people I came across have expressed the wish to go further west and travel through Beleriand, he said, addressing the chieftains. Marach, since your own son and some of his companions seem to already have gathered horses and equipment, perhaps he would consider sojourning in Hithlum for a while? My father would gladly welcome him and anyone who would come along, and the same goes with the people of your folk, Baran.

The Men did not understand Sindarin, but some of the Elves of Estolad had learned their languages and could communicate with both the people of Marach and the people of Bëor.

\- My lord, we moved to Estolad when rumors came to us that the land was spacious and green and that the people of Bëor had stopped their journey there, Marach spoke first. It is true that many of the young men dream of going forward west and if your father the High King would be as generous as to welcome them, then I can only express my earnest gratitude towards him.

\- It seems only fair that the young ones may be allowed to explore Beleriand as they wish and would they be pleased by what they will encounter in Hithlum, I hope they shall convince more of your folk to move west. They shall make better ambassadors than any of our own kind, I presume.

\- They will undoubtedly be ecstatic upon hearing this news, my Lord, said Marach with a smile.

Baran was also very honoured by this offer, but he declined it just as Fingon had expected him to. He knew well that Baran's father, Bëor, had gone to live in Nargothrond, and their people, since they had been discovered by Finrod, had already pledged their allegiance to the son of Finarfin. Nonetheless Fingon had deemed discourteous not to include them in his proposition.

\- I am glad my cousin can rely on such honorable allies, he said to Baran, nodding. And that our friendship has been sealed, Marach.

And so it was established that any young men willing to enter King Fingolfin's service would be welcome in Hithlum and that the first volunteers would leave when Fingon would. And to Amrod and Amras's delight, it was also decided that a great hunt would be organized and last for days, as a way to celebrate the beginning of a friendship between the people of Malach and the Elves of Hithlum.

* * *

Young Malach was only fifteen, yet he stood almost as tall as Gilmiel did and it was a remarkable sight for Elves rarely reached their full height before their fiftieth birthday. He had a handsome face, framed with wavy golden hair, and splendid clear blue eyes filled with valor. He did speak a bit of Sindarin, that he had picked up from the Elves of Estolad, and he learned fast, so fast Gilmiel deemed he would be near fluent by the time they reached Hithlum. Fingon kept him close by and treated him with great kindness, as he had personaly promised Marach to take good care of his son, and also because he held his people in high honor, having been impressed by the strength and the goodness he had sensed in them throughout his stay in Estolad.

Malach and his companions proved resistant, but the Elves had to make a few stops on their behalf, for they needed more rest and they also had to sleep. While his friends had been resting on their saddles, Malach had fought the urge to close his eyes and had forced himself to stay awake. But in the early morning following their departure, the lad had almost fallen from his horse, had he not been caught last minute by an Elf riding next to him. Fingon himself had made sure he was comfortably settled beneath a tall oak, and he had blushed furiously when he had woken up several hours later and found out that the whole company was waiting for him. Gilmiel had tried to tell him he ought to let them know when he grew too tired to ride and she also offered him to mount with someone else, yet somehow she only made him turn to an even deeper shade of red - even his ears seemed affected. For a moment she was convinced he had caught some disease, for she had heard Men were weak to changes of temperature and environment.

\- He is simply shy in your presence, my Lady, explained one of the Elves from Estolad who was traveling with them.

\- I did not mean to cause any discomfort, said Gilmiel, rather alarmed, his parents and people trusted us with him and he is our guest...

\- My lady needs not worry, the boy is simply impressed. Their kind has yet to meet more of ours and seldom have they seen our wives and daughters, much less one of your rank.

\- Is that so? she muttered, bewildered.

She met Fingon's gaze and he had to suppress a laugh. His mood had been good during their stay in Estolad, days of hunting with Amrod and Amras had chased away the melancholia he had felt first when he had seen the children of Men.

\- Will you believe me then, when I tell you you grow more beautiful with every day that goes, he whispered in Quenya as they were getting ready to ride again.

Fingon's love for his wife was best expressed through his gaze, yet at times he praised her out loud and he still managed to be clumsy at it.

\- They said my rank is impressive, not my beauty, Gilmiel said, although she was smiling.

\- You certainly needed not marry me to deserve such compliment, yet I fancy our love has done you good, as it also did for me, he said in her ear.

Truth be told, the majesty she had displayed on her wedding day had never quite left afterwards and it was as if she had grown taller, as if her hair had captured the light of sunrays, and she was unaware herself of these changes. Gilmiel had gradually become an admirable princess and even though she favored sewing and calm afternoons, she had found a rightly deserved place among the King's household.

For years indeed, Malach could barely behold Gilmiel without displaying signs of nervousness, and to a lesser extent he acted similarly towards the other Elven ladies. Yet he grew used to the company of Elves and his own manners eventually mimicked theirs, and his Sindarin was as pure as could be, yet his speech took much after the manner of the Exiles. Soon he earned the name Aradan, the noble man, when he stood tall and straight - he was above two meters - and when his beard started growing, a surprising feature to the Elves. As the years went by, Malach and his companions proved to be steadfast warriors and despite their bodies not being as enduring as the Elves', at times they could muster greater brute strength than the Eldar themselves. They trained at arms, nearly all of them handled long axes best, and Fingon of all others spent the most time in their company.

And the year Aradan turned 29, the grown man he had become - as lofty and noble as one of the Eldar - set out to go back to his people in Estolad, but while bidding him goodbye, the Elves knew their parting would not last long and as it turned out he lead a great part of his people in Hithlum, where they settled and where they would one day enjoy great splendor.

* * *

Quick recap: **Marach** was the leader of what would be known as the House of Hador later on when they first entered Beleriand, and his son and heir is **Malach**. **Baran** is **Bëor** 's son and Bëor was the leader of his people when they came to Beleriand.

Ilmië/Gilmiel is more the housewife type, much more a passive force as opposed to the very active Fingon (well that's how I wanted her to be). Although she deserves a lot of credit to put up with a husband whose immediate reaction upon seeing a dragon for the 1st time ever is to ride after it and chase it with his archer buddies, because personally I wouldn't have the nerves to through that. Anyways she's still one of the Noldor, she'll be brave enough when she will have to.

Also, I picture Elves in general as being a very family oriented folk, although birth rate was very low in Beleriand during 1st Age (at least among Finwë's descendants and probably the other Exiles...). But judging from the number of kids Finwë and his sons had before the war, they seemed to enjoy large families and I'm sure that as far as Elves and Men ever mingle, the former were amazed by the number of little ones the latter produced on a regular basis :D

"...and to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well" is a direct quote from the _Silmarillion_.


	12. Chapter 11

So this chapter and the upcoming two will be a continuous story, like a small interlude in the fic :) Mostly I wanted to have fun with the characters, and be a bit more dramatic also.

 **Some genealogy** : Malach (also called Aradan, the noble man) has married Zimrahin (Meldis was her sindarin name) and they have two children Adanel and Magor. Adanel will later marry Belemir of the House of Bëor and will be Andreth's aunt. She is also a Wise-woman. And Magor will succeed to his father as the head of their house but he won't enter any Elf-lord service.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

 **353 Y.S. Mithrim**

\- I wager I will take down the first prey, said Maedhros, as he was thinning one of his long knives. You may think you are the best archer out there, but I ride faster.

\- Ride your best, Russandol, and remember that my arrows flow swifter than any of your horses.

It was autumn and the forests of Mithrim displayed magnificent shades of red, orange and gold, a pure delight for the eyes. The wind was not too cold for the season and it brought along scents of wet soil and fallen leaves, such that a good hunt seemed a most appealing activity to the Elves and Men. It had not taken long to organize a hunting party, one that would last a week at least and that promised to be successful. Malach had invited the Elven lords to come in his lands, an invitation to which Fingon had gladly answered and he in turn hadn't had any trouble convincing Maedhros to join them.

\- You said so last time, and yet I took down most of our prizes.

\- If I recall well, half of it were hares - and that hardly qualify as a challenging prey.

\- Your memory fails you, Fingon, or rather you conveniently forgot about that huge boar I caught. Even the hounds feared the beast.

\- Oh, I beg your pardon but I believe _I_ was the one who finished off the boar, said Aegnor who had nudged his way between his cousins and put his hands on their shoulders. Maedhros, your mount was unwilling to go near it, did you not almost fall off? And you, Fingon, you came late, I reckon you were too busy admiring pine trees to bother with the game.

Maedhros and Fingon's expressions tensed. Aegnor had been a last minute addition to their group and his mood was excellent, much at the expense of his cousins.

\- It was a young stallion, a bit too impetuous perhaps...

\- The dogs lead me on a wrong track...

\- I won then and I shall do likewise today, tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, concluded Aegnor with a broad smile.

His gaze fell on Malach who busied himself not far from them, along with men of his household. They were saddling horses and children ran around, excited by all the preparations that were going on, as they would depart around noon.

\- And I shall ride beside Aradan, otherwise he might get the idea that our family lacks good huntsmen, he added.

\- I trust Fingon already ruined it for us, said Maedhros grinning.

\- Let me remind you that Men lived in Estolad first, in the lands of Amrod and Amras, declared Fingon in a mischievous tone. If you have to blame anyone, blame the twins - _your little brothers_.

\- They are skilled hunters and should I mention that Celegorm—

\- Is the bickering mandatory? suddenly interrupted a young, clear voice.

The three Elven lords looked down simultaneously and there stood Magor, Malach's son, who had just reached twelve years of age. He was still small, and skinny, with a mass of pale blonde curls on his head, and his wide-opened eyes were filled with genuine curiosity and expectation. None of the cousins uttered a word, for they were surprised by the little one's presence and perhaps a bit ashamed to be caught in the middle of such a silly argument.

\- Would it be rude of me to inquire if this is part of the sport, my Lords? he said again, deeming his previous question had remained unanswered because his speech had not been courteous enough.

\- Taunting your opponents has its perks, young master, said Maedhros, kneeling down to face Magor. It is a skill of its own, and a sharp tongue serves especially well those who cannot win elseways.

\- Wouldn't that be a treacherous thing to do, though?

\- If the object of your teasing is one of your cousin, you would be well advised to use this trick over and over, stated Maedhros, chuckling.

\- My Lord is still jesting, said Magor, unsure, sending a puzzled look at the tall Elf.

\- He is, and not very well I'm afraid, grinned Aegnor. Will we have the pleasure of seeing you join our hunting party, Magor son of Malach?

\- Nay, my father won't allow me to follow you, the child sighed and obviously this decision vexed him greatly. He told me I can only come once I'll grow a few inches taller because for now even some of our bows are longer than I...

As Magor stared at them with envy, his mind full of dreams of one day becoming as lofty as them, the three Elves fought to suppress their smiles and Fingon nimbly hid his own bow away.

\- I do not doubt you will soon tower everyone else in your household, exclaimed Aegnor, amused. Do you know how long I had to wait till I could finally look at my brothers in the eyes? Decades at least, and I also had a wild horde of older cousins... Besides, your sister Adanel seems too kind to pull pranks on you, like they did with me.

\- She doesn't, indeed.

Magor was touched by Aegnor's concern and it gave some courage.

\- Perhaps one of you, my Lords, is in need of a squire? asked the boy, hopeful. Were you to grant me permission to go with you, my father would surely not oppose your will, and I can tend horses as good as anyone else.

Fingon stroke his hair gently and said:

\- We cannot undo your father's order, Magor, but if you really do tend horses well, then mine would love a good brushing.

\- I could put the saddle on as well, and carry your arrows, said Magor in an eager tone.

The three Elven lords laughed, and it was this soft laugh Men found so precious, for it warmed hearts and was devoid of all afterthought.

\- Our folk usually rides bareback, explained Fingon, leading the child toward his mount. And as for my arrows, they... well...

They were taller than Magor and he would not be able to handle them, but Fingon felt there was no need to mention this little issue.

\- They are already packed, he finally said.

\- Does my Lord think lord Maedhros and lord Aegnor would allow me to tend their horses as well? asked Magor as he was standing next to Fingon's steed, a sturdy creature whose height at the withers was around 19 hands.

Horses had already been taken out of the stables and pastures and, in fact, they had been taken care of as well.

\- I shall tell them you are also at their service, promised Fingon. Magor, you do ride often, do you?

The size difference between the boy and the horse worried him, although he knew the stallion had a good temper.

\- I do, my Lord.

Magor was already browsing through leather bags, in search of brushes, and as he seemed to know what to look for Fingon reckoned he would not need any further supervision. He walked away, having in mind to pick on Maedhros and Aegnor a bit more - it was part of the game, indeed -, when he stumbled upon Gilmiel.

\- Is this our host's son picking out your horse's hooves? she said, peering at Magor. Has the lad offended you in some way?

\- He begged me for it.

\- Did he? she laughed.

\- Almost, yet it'd be more correct to say we came on an agreement. He wanted to help with the preparations and grooming horses was the most... suitable task for him.

\- Your horse is at least a dozen time bigger than he, noted Gilmiel, not knowing whether it was a funny or an alarming situation. He looks like a mouse next to an elephant.

\- Was it too reckless to let him deal with the mounts?

Fingon had spent much time with teenagers and young men but he had yet to become more familiar with children, and he was especially bewildered by their sudden growth spurts. It confused him for their bodies grew faster than Elves and he tended to overestimate their abilities.

\- Oh no, else Maedhros or Aegnor would have put a halt to it, teased Gilmiel who had easily guessed what the cousins had been up to since dawn.

\- Glíves, when dealing with such crucial matters, a wife should always side with her husband, he said, besides I was the real winner, it was one of my arrows that weakened the boar and they wouldn't have stood a chance against it otherwise.

She tried to look attentive, but she hardly could hide a smile - no to mention she had no idea to what boar he was refering.

\- I also caught a deer whose antlers were wider than most rivers, but none would bother to mention that, he added, scowling.

\- 'Wider than most rivers', are my ears playing me tricks? Maedhros stepped in, closely followed by Aegnor. You would dare deceive your wife so blatantly, valiant one?

\- Surely one would assume you have kept such an outstanding trophy, yet you never displayed it, did you?

\- Gilmiel has few concerns with hunting, you would but bore her if you were to go on and disclose every single one of your fantasies on the matter, said Fingon in a hasty tone, and his wife knew what part she had to play.

\- It's the plain truth, I only came to bid you goodbye, she agreed faithfully, and I wouldn't pretend to understand much of the game.

Neither Maedhros nor Aegnor were convinced by her words, for it was not the first time Fingon used her as a shield in their little disputes, but they did not question her further and saved their lines for later, when they'd be riding.

\- I will go check upon Magor, she said, judging it was wiser to leave the three cousins alone.

She left after having briefly squeezed her husband's hand and she let out a discreet giggle when she caught Maedhros winking at her. Indeed Gilmiel was only mildly interested by the hunt but she had come along to the village, for she had not seen Malach's family in a while - in fact last time they had met his eldest child had been but a toddler, and Magor a promising bump.

\- So this is part of the game, muttered the boy, once she stood by his side.

He was trying to braid the horse's mane and he had had to step on a box to reach its neckline.

\- Yes, and it is fortunate there are only three of them here today, had there been more, it would take at least two more days for them to be done with their brag, said Gilmiel. I assure you, you are better off with the horses. These have the decency not to talk.

Despite the lady's words, Magor thought it would be quite enjoyable to have tall cousins like lord Fingon had and to compete with them to become the best hunter.

\- Once they will be gone, we could always do some falconry, he said, that I am not forbidden to do.

\- That we shall do then, stated Gilmiel as she started to help Magor with the braids.

* * *

Malach's eldest child, Adanel, was fourteen, almost as old as her father had been when Fingon and Gilmiel had first met him. She was a lovely maiden, yet it was her blue eyes and their serious expression that were worth being noticed and one could tell she was already wise beyond her years. Adanel was used to the presence of Elves, mostly the Sindar who lived in the foothills of the Ered Wethrin, and was always one to listen to their songs and tales, much like she was eager to learn all she could about her own people. Although hunting was not not part of the activities she enjoyed - unlike her little brother, she did not mind having to stay in the village while her father and his guests would roam the forest for days - she had been looking forward this hunting party, for she knew Elven lords and ladies were coming and never had she seen the fine folk from the King's household, those from the West.

\- It is not our first meeting, had said Gilmiel when Adanel had welcomed her, although you probably do not recall it, for you were not even two and your brother wasn't born yet. Oh, you were such a charming little thing, with your round pink cheeks and dimples, Fingon himself was much infatuated with you.

The lady had laughed and told her a few anecdotes, but Adanel had gone a deep shade of red and it had taken her a few minutes to regain her composure and resume her observation. She could easily tell the Eldar apart from the Sindar and she could have done so even if the former's eyes hadn't shone with the light of the Trees, as their silhouettes and clothing styles differed. Adanel had always considered her father to be a tall and powerful man, and he surpassed many Elves in height, but the lord Fingon was even greater. Upon seeing lord Maedhros and lord Aegnor, she had wondered just how high in stature could be King Fingolfin, and the King Thingol of whom they said he was the loftiest of all. And once she had grown accustomed to their appearances and their manners, she had realized that even with her eyes closed she could have told who was of the Eldar and who of the Sindar, for even though they spoke the same language, they did in it a rather different fashion. In a single evening, it seemed she had learned more about Elves than she had ever done previously.

During the days that followed the departure of the hunting party, Adanel sought Gilmiel's company and the two often sat under an old oak, at the border of the village, and the tree's rich foliage provided them with a shelter from the autumn rain. Sometimes, when she could, Meldis joined them, at other times it was Magor, who liked stories as much as his sister did. They talked a lot and Adanel was especially curious about the geography of Beleriand, wondering who inhabited these vast lands and how they had come to live there. And Meldis knew many stories her mother had heard from her own mother, and she delighted everyone with legendary adventures Men had gone through on the Sea of Rhûn - in front of the children she did not mention yet the Darkness that had fell upon Men.

To Magor's pleasure, they also went hawking, by the river, and they took long walks in the woods, enjoying the colours of autumn. And not long after a message had come from Malach saying the hunters would be back soon, Gilmiel, Adanel and Magor set off on a little expedition, having in mind to spend the day out in search of chestnuts and hazelnuts.

\- We should keep an eye open for mushrooms too, said Gilmiel, inspecting the mossy grounds. Providing that our hunters were successful, and we should not doubt their talent, we might just need a few boletus and chanterelles to enhance the taste of deer meat. I assume you two know what to look for?

Adanel and Magor nodded.

\- They don't let me go on their long hunt parties, but they do bid me often to go pluck whatever strikes their fancy, complained the boy.

\- Do not worry, I bet that in a few years you will be the dread of all the boars populating these forests.

Adanel laughed.

\- My Lady puts too much trust in his skills, I reckon it would be safer to call him the squirrel stalker for the time being.

\- Squirrel stalker? Pray, what have these poor creatures done to you, young one? asked Gilmiel, pretending to be extremely shocked.

Magor did not realize she was teasing him and his ears turned red as he mumbled in an apologetic tone:

\- The truth, my Lady, is that I never even could catch one properly...

His sheepish look was too adorable for Gilmiel to hold back her chuckles.

\- It might be that you need find a prey worth your talent, she said, stroking his golden curls.

Beside her, Adanel was giggling.

\- To where shall we head, my Lady? she asked. Ought we go nearer the mountains? I heard there are many caves in the cliffs, and a great number of springs flow out of the rock.

\- It is a longer walk, but the Sun is on our side today, said Gilmiel, glancing at the blue sky. Perhaps it would have been more convenient to ride though, we might run late in the evening.

\- I find that even a short stroll stimulates much more reflection than a horse ride, said Adanel, a few good ideas would be worth skipping dinner perhaps?

\- Indeed, Gilmiel agreed, smiling at the young girl. And we can easily pick up our dinner on the way. Then to the cliffs and the streams it is!

* * *

Their picking had gone well and their bellies had been full by the time they reached the foothills where they sat on the banks of small pool formed by a stream falling down the mountains. Adanel and Magor were washing their hands in the fresh water and as she looked at the waterfall creating white turmoils, a song came to Gilmiel's lips, one her mother had learned when she had been a child.

 _My little one is like water, she is like whitewater_

 _She runs like a stream children are chasing_

 _Run, run fast if you can_

 _Never, never you will catch her_

 _Like small boats, carried away by whitewater_

 _In her eyes young fellows drift away_

 _Sail, sail tomorrow you'll land_

 _Whitewater will not yet wed._

But she stopped abruptly, she had heard a rustling sound in the forest. The ground was covered with the first autumn leaves and had it not been so brisk, so heavy, it would not have caught her attention, for she would have thought some animal was lurking in the undergrowth. But this noise was disharmonious, it had disrupted the forest's sweet melody and Gilmiel grew suddenly alarmed.

\- Adanel, Magor, come here fast, she beckoned.

They both sprang on their feet and walked toward her, puzzled.

\- Is something the...

\- Stay silent, ordered Gilmiel in a low voice.

There were other signs. The birds had stop singing, an eerie silence overwhelmed the woods. And this foul smell. She had come across it only once, in Lammoth, yet she had never forgotten it.

\- Orcs, she whispered. There are Orcs coming this way...

She felt the children pressing themselves against her as they cast anxious looks at the edge of the forest. They had to flee, and they had to be swift, but since the afternoon was quite advanced, Gilmiel deemed they only had one hour left or so before dusk. She pulled Adanel and Magor closer to her and with a glance showed them the way: they would hide in one of the mountain caves, it was the safest way to go for now. And as they hurried on a stony slope, Gilmiel hoped the Orcs would not come near the stream where they might come across clues of their presence.

* * *

19 hands is around 6'4"/1m93, that's tall for a man, and huge for a horse! And not sure if they knew about elephants or oliphants back then, but mice and elephants just have that special relationship, they're like a set.

I put Aegnor in there thinking he only has a few decades left before he meets Andreth and gets his heart broken forever (he's still waiting in the Halls of Mandos as you're reading these lines). I don't think I'll ever get over their love story, seriously T.T

The whitewater song is a rough translation I did of a French song called "L'eau vive" (Whitewater).


	13. Chapter 12

I don't know how well I handle that chapter, but here it goes.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

For their last night out, they had set their encampment along the river, somewhere between lake Mithrim and the village. Had they hastened a bit perhaps they would have already reach it, but the pleasant prospect of spending another night in the wild, under the stars, had made their progression gone slower. Horses and hounds had drunk fresh water, and the former group now grazed on the banks while the latter had for most part fallen asleep beneath the trees that lined up at the forest edge. As for the Men and the Elves, they had raised a few tents, but the wind was still warm and the sky clear, and so they sat on thick grass, around a large fire, drinking ale and reminiscing about the finest moments of their hunt.

\- Come next summer, I would be glad if you were to come in Dorthonion, Aradan, said Aegnor. Elks in our lands are the tallest in Beleriand, it is quite a marvelous sight to come across these beasts in the early morning.

\- It'd be a pleasure, lord Aegnor, and I heard black bears are often sighted in Ladros.

\- They are, especially around lake Aeluin, and their thick fur is really the best to protect oneself during winter. Haven't Angrod and I sent you pelts no later than last Spring, Fingon? Would you have some to spare for Aradan perhaps?

\- I do, answered Fingon, absent-mindedly.

He was not sitting with them, but rather he stood next to a cart on which a great stag had been spread and its antlers were wide, so wide it was a wonder the animal had been able to flee so fast before the hounds.

\- Do you plan to wed the poor creature? asked Maedhros with fake concern. I reckon it'd make a warm and friendly bedmate.

\- Then it is yours, winters are long in Himlad, are they not?

\- You would give up your best prize for me? exclaimed Maedhros, chuckling. Truly you do love me, Fingon.

\- Why, have you ever doubted my feelings?

Everyone around the fire laughed and Fingon finally sat down with them.

\- Would you sing for us, Aradan? he asked. A song of old, one your Fathers sang before they came to Beleriand, would be most delightful.

It was indeed and the Elves especially loved the exotic tones of Taliska, although for the most they did not understand its words. Aradan's voice lulled most Men to sleep and soon, when he himself took some well deserved rest, the fire crackling and the owls soft hoots were the sounds that kept the dreamy Elves company all night long.

They departed at dawn and it was a beautiful morning, swirls of mist traced mysterious curves on the ground and the grass was covered with a glittering dew. A flight of white geese crossed the sky and they followed the birds, for they also seem to head to the village. While the forest gave way to meadows enclosed with hedges, they passed a few farms, but none of the peasants were in sight as they probably all working hard in the fields for the upcoming harvest. Then the hill on which the village had been raised appeared before them, plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys and Elves as well as those from Men who had the keenest eyes could sight the inhabitants going about their business.

\- Blow the horns, ordered Malach to his men, it will please the children.

He expected to see Magor and his friends run toward them, past the wooden fences, but the sound of the horns was only answered by a similar note, coming from the watch tower. Although the village looked as peaceful as usual, Malach sensed something was off and he grew tensed. Behind him, Fingon, Maedhros and Aegnor felt alike, yet they did not perceive any alarming sign - something was lacking, but they did not know what.

Malach was the first to pass through the gates and his old steward came forthwith, his wrinkly face strained with anguish.

\- Where is Meldis? asked Malach right away, before the man could say a word. And where are the children?

\- My lord, something terrible happened last night, stammered the stewart. Orcs have been sighted north of the village, some we could kill, some slipped through our fingers...

His voice trailed as he obviously had more ill news to disclose.

\- And my family...? pressed on Malach, getting off his horse.

\- Lady Meldis left this morning with some of our men, they went to the foothills, for your children... they have gone on a walk yesterday, and they... haven't returned yet. Adanel and Magor, they left with...

The stewart glanced fearfully at Fingon whose face was hard like marble, for he had guessed what the old man was about to say.

\- They left with the lady Gilmiel, and we are afraid... the lady Meldis feared they might have encountered Orcs and so she went away as soon as the Sun rose...

\- Where are the men who fought the Orcs last night? asked Fingon briskly.

\- Only two are still in the village, they were injured and one of them—

Fingon had not waited for the steward to finish his sentence, he was already on his feet, walking fast toward the healing house, closely followed by Maedhros and Aegnor. But they could not hope to inquire about the attack, for the healers warned them one of the men was still unconscious while the other had not much to reveal.

\- Sentinels raised the alarm not long after midnight, they reported that a small troop of Orcs had made their way east of Lake Mithrim and our men met them by the river, between the village and the foothills, explained the eldest healer, a tall man with long grey hair. For the most part the enemies were killed, but a dozen a least fled toward the mountains it seems. So far we think it was an isolated strike, as watchers up north have not sighted anything unusual.

\- Has anyone tracked down the Orcs who escaped? asked Aegnor.

\- They failed at it, my Lord, but we assumed the foul creatures must have sought refuge in the mountains where there are plenty of small caves in which they could easily hide.

Fingon scowled. Gilmiel and the children could have headed to the lake, far from where the Orcs had been caught roaming around, yet, had it been the case, they would have had no reasons to spend the night out.

\- My Lords, a messenger sent by lady Meldis has just arrived, burst in Malach's squire.

\- Perhaps he brought some good tidings, muttered Maedhros, gently pulling Fingon outside the healing house.

Malach was still by the gates, shouting orders and his men hurried around him, feverish. Fresh steeds had been saddled and weapons had been brought, as everyone was getting ready for a whole different kind of hunt.

\- They found Orc corpses near a spring, in the foothills, explained Malach, his voice slightly shaking, and moreover, on the edge of the pool, there was a bag full of nuts and mushrooms...

\- No other traces of the children or of my wife?

\- No, my Lord.

Malach was pale, but ready, and he had traded leather for a mithril mail given by the Elves during his years at King Fingolfin's service. Most hunters had also put on better equipment and it was decided that Aegnor would lead some of them south of the river to search the area, while the rest of them would aim to reach lady Meldis as fast as possible.

\- What do you reckon, my Lord? asked Malach, in a low voice.

\- It appears it was but a small troop your men met last night, yet there could be more out there, and we know for sure some escaped, said Fingon. However I'm afraid only one of these vile creatures is enough to cause great damage.

\- Would you presume...?

\- I presume nothing.

His tone was harsh and truth be told he hoped to stumble upon these orcs and slaughter them to the last. So many things could have happened, it was all rushing in his mind. Gilmiel could have heard the Orcs coming and hide from them in time, there were so many nooks and crannies in the mountains. Or had she found a safe place for the children and decided to face the wandering Orcs? _She bore a dagger, yet she could not have hope to fight_ , he thought painfully. And what if they had been discovered, had they been made prisoners by some Orcs? And were he to find her lifeless body... _I shall ride north, up to the Iron Fortress if need be, but my sword will spare not a single one of these Orcs._

\- Everything is ready, we are leaving, Maedhros told him.

He put a hand on Fingon's head, stroking his hair.

\- Remember, my horses are the fastest, we will be there in not time, he said softly. And we will find her.

* * *

Despite riding one of Maedhros's swiftest horse, Fingon felt restless and horrible memories resurfaced as he raced through the woods. Aredhel, his beloved sister's face haunted him, she who had disappeared without a trace decades ago. At first he had refused to believe Celegorm and Curufin's words, but after long months of search, he had had to surrender, knowing that his cousins and brother's lords had done their best as well. The bitter truth was that his sister had probably lost her life during one of her errand, for Beleriand was a far more dangerous place than Aman and Aredhel had always been a reckless lady. Had then Gilmiel met a similar fate, had she been slayed by some evil slave of the Dark Lord? Had it be so simple, so unfair?

Fingon was the first to reach the pool, where he found Meldis and half a dozen men and they surrounded a bush where they had just discovered another dead Orc.

\- Lord Fingon! Meldis greeted him. It's the sixth corpse we have found and for the most part they have been shot, most likely by the Elves of the area.

Her eyes were red and her features marked with extreme weariness, but she had spoken firmly and was staring at Fingon with sympathy.

\- Are all the other Orcs in the cavern? he asked.

\- Yes, they must have been pursuing someone in there...

\- Could it have been the Elves that shot them they were after?

\- We thought so at first, but the Orcs up there have been killed from behind, from the outside, she explained, and it seemed she had gone over this particular detail over and over. The arrows are planted in their back.

\- So whoever was inside faded away, muttered Fingon, somber and he felt sorry he could not offer Meldis any comfort.

He was about to climb the cliff, when Malach and Maedhros arrived, with more men and also with dogs. It was sweet to see the former reunite with his wife, but seeing them sharing their worries only reminded Fingon that Gilmiel was somewhere out there and a painful pang went through his chest. Brooding, he resumed his ascension to the cave and Maedhros alone went with him. Right at the entrance, there were five dead Orcs piled up and as Meldis had told him, most had been shot. However the one who seemingly had entered laid down apart, in his own blood, and had a bad wound at the throat. Fingon strode over the corpses and inspected the cave's entry.

\- If indeed Gilmiel and the children were in here, they might have been rescued by the Grey Elves, said Maedhros, glancing around.

\- The Elves would have brought them back to village immediately, said Fingon, kneeling. Unless... there are blood stains on the wall... Someone was wounded, perhaps badly.

\- It doesn't have to be one of the children... or her.

\- Yet I found this, breathed Fingon in a blank tone.

In his cousin's palm, Maedhros caught the glittering sight of a golden needle.

* * *

Adanel and Magor had finally fallen asleep, one on each side of Gilmiel. She had done her best to cover them with her cloak, but its fabric was thin and offered a meager barrier against the cold and damp of the cave. The children felt safe enough to rest, and she was glad they did, yet Gilmiel felt miserable for she knew that she too would only be able to provide them a poor protection. It had been pure luck they had been able to sneak unseen in the cavern and just as fortuitous they could snuggle up in a small recess, concealed in darkness. Gilmiel deemed there was nothing left to do but wait for dawn, and so she was sewing, finding some comfort in this familiar activity. On her lap, next to her reels, she had laid a dagger, a weapon her husband had insisted she should carry every time they traveled, although up to that day, Gilmiel had only used it to cut apples and peers. And as she tried to focus on her embroidery - her stitches had never been so uneven - she prayed the steel blade would not glow.

Gilmiel had been taught how to use daggers, swords and bows and while it would have been excessive to say she was skilled at handling weapons, she nonetheless was decent at it, and feared not to put her lessons at test. However she was no fool, she knew that fighting real Orcs would have nothing to do with training leisurely with Fingon. She also was well aware of how poorly she was equipped and that two young lives were under her responsability. And so Gilmiel could only hope none of Morgoth's servants would find them - hopefully so far the night had been eventless. _And there is but one hour left till daybreak_ , she thought as she felt Adanel stir on her left side. The girl blue eyes were open and she was watching the lady's fingers expertly handling thread.

\- Go back to sleep, everything is calm, Gilmiel told her in a low voice.

\- Do you not need to rest, my Lady?

\- Sewing is as fortifying as a good nap, on some occasions.

\- I'm afraid it would not sustain me long, though.

\- Perhaps, said Gilmiel, with a smile.

\- Does my Lady fight well?

\- To be honest, not as well as I would like, despite my husband's best efforts, admitted Gilmiel with a sigh.

 _My poor beloved... Would that we be back at the village before you and Aradan, would that I spare you needless worry._ It grieved her to think of Fingon, it hurt her much.

\- If only Mother knew we are safe, muttered Adanel. She must be out of her mind with worry... and Father is still out, hunting.

\- The Sun will soon rise, then we might be able to head back to your home.

\- Would the Orcs be gone?

\- I can not tell, yet Morgoth's minions despise the light for it weakens them. And they might have traveled far by now, or some allies of ours might have defeated them already.

Gilmiel stroke Adanel smooth hair, pondering. And in the gloom of the cave, she recalled Aredhel, her beloved sister-in-law who had vanished almost forty years ago. Such a fiery lady, she had been born to ride, and hunt, as free as the wind, and it had come as no surprise that she had wished to escape Turgon's hidden city, at least for a while. _Are you hiding somewhere in Beleriand or east of the Blue Mountains, Írissë? Or have you been cruelly slayed by some foul monster?_

\- My Lady, the blade...! she heard Adanel's voice utter, pulling her out of her memories. The blade, it's glowing!

Gilmiel straightened, her fingers clenched on the dagger's handle. The steel the weapon had been made of had turned a pale blue color, its brilliance was yet diffused, but there was no mistake possible.

\- Magor, wake up, Magor, said Gilmiel, gently shaking the boy.

\- Has morning come? he mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.

\- No, but Orcs might be coming our way.

Magor jumped on his feet at once, while Gilmiel and Adanel rose. The children were obviously frightened, but they held it well, and both stared at the Lady whom they expected to devise a plan. The cave they were hiding in seemed to be small and leading to nothing but dead-ends, yet it was possible it was connected to some other area if one knew where to look for. And so Gilmiel resolved to send Adanel and Maglor deeper in the tunnels, while she would do her best to slow down the Orcs, were they to show up in the cavern. _They might never find the opening in the cliff_ , she hoped, _they could be running elsewhere..._ But the children needed a safer hideout, just in case.

\- You and your brother, you go as deep as you can in the cave, and if you were to find a path leading further deep in the mountain, or to another cave, take it and don't look back, she said to Adanel, hastily. Hide and do not uncover yourself before you hear this, Elbereth Gilthoniel. It will be our secret password, understood?

\- You won't fight them, my Lady, will you? inquired Adanel, anxious.

\- I will keep a watch, nothing more, Gilmiel said, stroking their cheeks. Go now, go fast.

Brother and sister were both hesitant, for their hearts told them to stay by the lady's side, but they listened to her and finally turned around, disappearing in the depth of the cavern, hand in hand. Gilmiel looked down at her dagger, its blade was glowing brighter, and she walked toward the entrance of the cave, going along the walls, carefully, till she could spy on what was going on outside.

The slope was steep and the Orcs did not know themselves what they were looking for. The vicious creatures fled from the forest, where most of their troops had been wiped out, and they were drew to caves where they could creep in the shadow and wait for sunset. Gilmiel counted three of them, a lesser number than what she had expected, yet it was still too much, considering that she wore no armour and that she'd have to let come closer if she were to stab them with her dagger.

As the Orcs climbed nearer, Gilmiel thought of Fingon, of his handsome and majestic self, of the years they spent together, and of the many dreams they shared. And it seemed to her it had been such a short period, filled with pitiful expectancies, for merely three Orcs could put an end to it. But she had no time for bitterness, the first of these loathsome creatures was about to enter the cave and she could hear it breath heavily, closer and closer.

Once she saw the Orc's ugly head pop in, Gilmiel aimed for the throat - _the weakest spot_ , she could still hear Fingon tell her - and dark blood gushed out of it as the Orc howled and fell on his knees. She jumped backwards, not knowing whether she could grab the dead Orc's shield before the others would burst in. But she wasn't quick enough and, narrowly escaping a hammer thrust, she braced herself, facing the ennemy. Alas, there were more than the two she had expected, more Orcs had gathered, blocking the cavern's entrance, and they laughed at her dismay, grumbling in their own dark language.

So Gilmiel understood this was the end, the plain end. _I can not hope to win, I can only buy the children time_ , she reflected with dread, and she wondered if she always had had this courage within her or if she only stood still because she believe it might save Adanel and Magor. And this time it was her father's face who came to her mind, dear lord Carmo who lived peacefully by the Great Sea, and she wept at her own misery.

\- Varda Elentári! was the warcry that instinctively escaped from her lips before she leaped toward the Orcs.

They had not anticipated her attack and Gilmiel was able to hit one on the shoulder, but as startled as the Orc had been, he could easily push her back with a blow that left her breathless. Yet she held her dagger, and she fancied she could throw it, if she aimed at their face...

Before she even moved, the Orcs growled and yelped and she saw them stumble and fall, the closest one to her collapsed at her feet, a long arrow with a grey fletching plunged in its neck. Two others met a similar fate, while the rest tried clumsily to flee, tripping on dead corpses and slipping on the stony ground, before being shot like the others. Bewildered, Gilmiel remained motionless for a while, processing what had just happened. Then carefully, she made her way through the carcasses to peer outside. The sky had turned pale blue and the forest trees emerged through a morning mist covering up the lands.

There, out of a bush, an Elf emerged, clad in grey, bearing a longbow in one hand and a short sword in the other. He must have been one of the Sindar inhabiting the caverns, for he climbed the cliff with ease, his long brown hair floating on his back. And Gilmiel felt so relieved to see him, she rashly stepped out of the cave.

\- I owe you my life, she exclaimed and he lifted his face toward her.

\- My Lady, do not—

Gilmiel heard the blow, felt the excruciating pain in her left arm and barely had the reflex to retreat in the cave's entrance and to lean on the stone wall. By the time she realized her shoulder had been pierced by an arrow, her providential savior landed next to her.

\- One of these nasty creatures escaped and is still lurking down there, he ushed.

Seconds later, he was drawing his bow and two shots got rid of that last Orc. The Elf then resumed all his attention on Gilmiel who was panting as she fell on her knees.

\- Now, let me have a closer look at this wound, my Lady, he said, ripping her sleeve apart.

It looked quite ugly, the arrow had deeply sunk in her flesh and around it her skin had turned black.

\- I'm afraid this is one nasty injury, he muttered.

* * *

It seems no one knows just how common it was for Elven swords to glow when Orcs were near, but from what I got, it seemed to be blades crafted in the Elder Days, and probably by Noldor... so in this case, it's not stretched out.

I don't know how often Turgon communicated with his brother and father, but since Aredhel was expected by Fingon, you'd think someone told him. So when she was lost in Nan Elmoth, all her family must have known quite fast she had gone missing.


	14. Chapter 13

I've been using Aradan more often than Malach, I'd guess that's how Elves called him since that's his Sindarin name.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Gilmiel felt dizzy and she barely could make out what the Elf was telling her.

\- My Lady, I will have to remove this arrow before we move, he was explaining. This will hurt, for I will pull it out at once and then put pressure on your shoulder to stop the bleeding...

The rest was lost to her. There was a loud crack, a sharp pain, the smell of blood. And Gilmiel fainted, whispering:

\- The children, we have to get the children...

* * *

At first Adanel and Magor stayed in the small corner they had deemed the best to hide in, curled up together. They had walked during long minutes, turning left, turning right, until they could not tell anymore where they were exactly. The cavern was not a vast one, indeed, but its corridors were intricate enough, and the children thought Orcs would have a hard time tracking them if they ever venture that far. Yet when a whole hour had passed, or so they reckoned, silence and darkness grew heavy and the children, restless.

\- Ought we have a look around? asked Magor, in a low voice. Shouldn't lady Gilmiel be here by now?

\- We might have gone too deep in the cave...

\- What if...?

Adanel shrugged. She was hugely worried about the Lady, but she tried to conceal it from her little brother.

\- Oh, you are right, Magor, she whispered at last. We can not just sit here, this is a most cowardly posture we are in!

Magor was glad to get up, as his feet and legs had gone numb, and he paced around, stretching. Adanel took his hand and together they sought a way out, but soon they faced a three-way crossroad. None of them could remember from where they had emerged and after much debate, they chose the left road for they thought the air smelled fresher on that side. They wander further, heartened by a light wind they felt caressing their face, and the passage became narrower and narrower, till Adanel had to bend and Magor's head brushed against the ceiling. At some point Adanel abruptly stopped, her brother stumbled into her, and with a quick gesture she ordered him to stay still.

\- Do you hear it?

Magor had expected heavy steps, armour clashes or even hoarse laughters - for he had been told Orcs often sniggered - but it was a much more ordinary sound he heard: somewhere ahead of them water was flowing. Perhaps outside rain was falling, or there might just be a river, in the depth of the mountains. Slowly they proceeded forward, fumbling the walls, and at some point the corridor opened on a large hall, whose grounds were partly covered with high stalagmites, and between these flowed water, its dark surface reflecting the light of a few torches.

\- Who could live here? said Magor, crouched, as they found themselves on a ledge.

Adanel pointed at a cloaked shape who had kneeled on the rocky bank of the river. Due to the dim light, they could not exactly perceive whether it was an Elf, a Man or even an Orc, nor what it was doing. But finally the creature rose and the children saw the Elf beautiful face and long smooth brown hair, cascading on his back.

\- It is one of the Sindar! exclaimed Adanel. He could help us!

\- The Lady said we could not reveal ourselves unless we were told the password!

\- He wouldn't know it, obviously, yet he is no enemy of ours.

\- Could we make him guess, then?

\- Do you think we have time for your silly games? We don't know what happened to Lady Gilmiel, she could... she...

\- It can't be, muttered Magor, his voice wavering. But... do you think we can trust him?

\- Good question, young master, and I, could I trust you? For you speak well my tongue, yet you are not of my folk.

Adanel and Magor were startled to notice that the stranger had come near, unbeknownst of them, and he was standing a couple of yards below them, a smile lighting up his lean face.

\- I am Magor, son of Malach, and this is my sister Adanel. We are from the people of Marach, our grand-father who crossed the Blue Mountains...

\- Do you intend on exposing all about our ancestry? cut in Adanel, nudging him.

\- Oh, you are right, the boy breathed. Could you tell me what the password is, sir? he added in a louder voice.

The Elf burst in a merry laughter that echoed throughout the hall and filled the children's hearts with warmth.

\- I'm afraid I know of no password, Magor son of Malach.

\- Do not mind him, my Lord, said Adanel, the truth is we've had quite a strenuous night...

\- I am no lord, please call me Arastor. Would that be too impolite to inquire about how you two ended up here? Usually your kind does not wander in the caverns, especially young ones.

He paused and gauging the distance between them, he said:

\- But please come down first.

Adanel and Magor climbed down with the help of Arastor and the Elf guided them through the stalagmites. Once they reached the river bank, they saw a small wooden bark floating on the water.

\- This is the fastest way to reach the dwellings of my people, said Arastor. You can tell me your story on the way.

\- But... but we cannot go that far, Arastor, protested Adanel. We were a party of three, and the Lady is still in there, she might...

\- Who is that lady? What happened to her?

\- We were on a stroll with lady Gilmiel of the Noldor and we came across Orcs...

\- Orcs? Orcs came in the caves? And they attacked lady Gilmiel, the wife of lord Fingon?

\- We do not know for sure, but when we—

\- Arastor! I need help! bellowed an Elf who was coming forward them, walking along the river.

\- Belegorn? What... said Arastor, bewildered.

The

newcomer was carrying someone in his arms, hence his slow pace, and the children recognized instantly the long wavy blonde hair of the unconscious Elf.

\- Lady Gilmiel! they cried together.

For a few moments great confusion reigned, Belegorn was startled by Adanel and Magor's presence, Arastor was bemused his little excursion had turned into a rescue mission and the children were grieved by the sight of the blood staining the Lady's garbs. Everyone tried to talk at the same time, creating an meaningless babble, and to add to the general state of bewilderment, it also happened that Arastor and Belegorn were twins. They shared identical features, beautiful pale green eyes, and their voice had the same tone, and it took Adanel and Maglor several minutes to realize it, for they felt stricken and weary.

\- Will she be alright? asked Adanel, helping the brothers to transfer the lady on the bark.

\- Her injury needs to be well tended, but this is nothing she can not overcome, said Arastor probing closely Gilmiel's shoulder. Hopefully, the arrow was not poisoned... Was she passed out when you found her, Belegorn?

\- No, she lost consciousness after I remove the arrow from her flesh, said Belegorn who was still holding Gilmiel against him.

He eyed the children and added:

\- I'm afraid she bled a lot.

\- Well, sighed Arastor, let's row as fast as we can back to our dwellings. Adanel, Magor, would you lend me a hand?

And the three of them did their best with the oars, sparing no efforts, and Arastor sang a song to give the children strength. It was only minutes later that Magor's voice was heard, for something had been bothering him since their departure.

\- Lord Belegorn, would the Lady have told anything about a secret password before she fainted?

* * *

Gilmiel laid in a bed around which airy white curtains had been drawn. She saw nothing past them, yet she could sense she was not in Aradan's village nor at Barad Eithel. One deep breath told her she probably was still in a cavern, for it smelled of rock and dampness, but there was also a light pine scent that she found appeasing. She also noticed she had been well taken care for, her left shoulder was covered with a neat bandage and a pomade had been applied on the scratches on her arms. This was obviously Elven work and as she rose slowly from the bed, she presumed the Grey Elf who had saved had brought her where his people lived.

\- This is an aeglos, was saying a vaguely familiar male voice, it grows around the hill of Amon Rûdh, west of Doriath and far south from here.

\- Aeglos? Its petals are immaculate, they make everything around seemed bland...

Gilmiel opened the curtains, almost laughing with relief.

\- Adanel! she cried. Adanel, my dear, you are unharmed!

\- My Lady woke up!

The girl jumped on her feet, and putting aside all convenience, she threw herself on Gilmiel and hugged her tight. The Elven lady kissed her on the forehead, gleeful.

\- You also met the friend who saved me from the Orcs, said Gilmiel beaming at Arastor who had put aside the herbarium he was showing Adanel and was standing a few feet away from them, a benevolent smile on his face.

\- I am Arastor, and it is my brother Belegorn you met briefly this morning, my Lady, he corrected, coming forth. I on the other side found the children, or rather I should say they found me.

\- Your brother? Please forgive me, I was far from being in my usual state last I laid my eyes on him.

Araster laughed, his green eyes sparkled.

\- Belegorn and I are twins, my Lady, your confusion is but natural.

\- Is that so? Well, Arastor, I found myself owing you and your brother a debt of gratitude, for had you not crossed our path in the caves, the children and I would probably have met a dreadful fate at the hands of these Orcs, said Gilmiel who had passed her valid arm around Adanel's shoulders. I'm afraid I have nothing but grateful words to repay you with, as of now.

She had taken hold of one of Arastor's hand and was pressing it.

\- My Lady, you should not worry about such trivial details, my brother and I are only too happy we could be of any help.

\- Is Magor here also?

Adanel giggled.

\- He was starving and is more than likely raiding the food stores as we speak.

\- I'm glad his little adventure has not affected his ravenousness, said Gilmiel, chuckling. Have I been long asleep? It seems I have completely lost track of time...

\- Barely a few hours, my Lady, answered Arastor. You were brought here during early morning, and it is now two after noon.

\- Have the children's parents, my husband or any of his kin been told where to find us?

She thought that by then Fingon had surely been back from hunting and knew Orcs had been roaming the woods around the village.

\- Belegorn and some others went to seek them, there is good hope that they will reach our halls before dusk, Arastor told her. My Lady, you should sit, you still need to rest.

Indeed, Gilmiel felt heavy and although her wound did not ache as much as she had expected, occasional stinging sensations made her wince. With the help of Adanel, she sat in an armchair from where she could admire the splendid collections of plants that had been gathered in the room. And when she gazed upon the fire blazing in the hearth, she muttered to herself, flexing her right hand:

\- It's a shame my sewings were lost to these foul beasts...

* * *

Belegorn, before reaching the village, had made his way to the small cavern where he had found Gilmiel at dawn, and his foresight served well, for there he found a gathering of Elves and Men, among which lord Fingon himself, as well as Aradan and Meldis. They had burned the Orcish corpses and seemed to get ready to depart when Belegorn came, bringing the good tidings they did not dare hoope for.

\- Your tale is a most surprising one, said Maedhros, when the Grey Elf was done with his recounting of the morning events. Your bravery honours you, truly.

\- It was luck, nothing more, my Lord, if I could save the Lady from the Orcs, for I had seen the dark creatures, yet I deemed wiser not to deal with them alone, and planned to ambush them with fellows of mine. But for lady Gilmiel's cry I would not have known someone was is in danger... Varda Elentári, she shouted...

Fingon, who had been staring intently at Belegorn, eased up a bit upon hearing these words.

\- She would have, he said. Are the dwellings of you people far from here, Belegorn?

\- Merely a league from here, my Lord, by horseback you shall be there in no time.

Everyone around was unleashing their mount, yet Fingon lingered at Belegorn's side, till he finally found his words.

\- I owe you much, Belegorn, he said, putting both hands on the Elf's shoulders. I might be more concerned by my wife'swell-being than anything else for the moment, yet rest assured your deed will not go by unnoticed and I shall thank you in due form once this... little episode is over.

\- I not doubt your thankfulness, my Lord, and I do not seek any reward.

\- Yet your brother and you saved the day, said Fingon, mounting his steed.

And fast they galloped towards the halls of Arastor and Belegorn.

* * *

Fingon had barely heard the screams of joy Aradan and his family let out when they were finally reunited, in the great hall that had been carved within the mountainside. Belegorn - or was it his brother, Arastor? - had lead him to the room where his wife was resting and Fingon had opened the door with such force, it left a notch in the wood. And there she was, seated in an armchair, her eyes half-closed.

\- Gilmiel! he called out.

She spun around, gasping. This was the voice she had yearn to hear, the handsome silhouette she had hoped to see stride toward her. Fingon nearly ran, but he feared his gestures would be too harsh for his wife's face was pale and weary and she looked more fragile than he had ever seen her be. Although she was clad in a grey cloak, her ripped and stained dresses were still visible, and moreover her left arm was stiff and strapped, and so Fingon proceeded smoothly.

\- Gilmiel, my sweet Gilmiel, he said in a low voice, hugging her with great caution. I came late, forgive me.

She stared at him, tears gleaming in her eyes, and her right hand was clenched on his vest, as if she feared he might vanished any second. Fingon held her tighter, planting a kiss on her forehead, and he wiped away the tears that rolled on her cheeks with his thumb.

\- Don't cry, he whispered, brushing her hair. I am not letting you go.

But she did sob, her face buried in his chest, as he rubbed her back patiently. So far, she had held everything in, for the children's sake, and because she too was proud. But in her husband's arms, Gilmiel let all her fears go away, for there she finally felt safe.

\- I love you, she finally managed to say in a strangled voice.

\- I love you too, Glíves, he said fervently. I love you more than my own life.

Gilmiel lifted her head and standing on the tip of her toes she placed a kiss on his lips, a soft caress that send shivers down Fingon's spine. He kissed her back, feverish, and their embrace became rushed, and quite pleasing, as Fingon pressed her closer to him, one hand on her lower back, the other stroking her nape. At some point though, overwhelmed by desire, he motioned too roughly and Gilmiel winced as the pain in her shoulder had awakened.

\- Does the wound hurt a lot? he asked, alarmed. Shall we sit down?

\- There is no need for you to worry, she assured him with that brave smile she put on whenever she meant to hide him any trouble she went through. It feels much better than it did.

Cupping her face, Fingon was about to kiss her again when the room's doors flew opened and made way to two Elven maidens who were carrying a large brass basin.

-The bath is ready, my Lady! announced one of them, stepping in. Would you prefer to... Oh! I beg your pardon, I did not... We... we could fetch the water later if you would rather...

They both looked flustered and uttered more excuses as they were backing up.

\- Please, bring it in here, said Fingon. And do not apologize for you only did well your duty.

Leaving Gilmiel on a seat, he went to lend them a hand to carry the buckets and soon steam filled the room. The maidens threw salts in the water whose color turned light blue and exuded fresh scents of a summer night, and after their work was done, they stood awkwardly by the basin.

\- We also were told to help the Lady clean herself, shyly blurted one of them.

\- I thank you, but I trust I can handle even such delicate business, said Fingon, smiling.

After they had exited the room, he turned to his wife and helped her undressing, taking off her cloak and then her white robes - these were a complete loss, the left sleeve had been entirely cut off. He inspected her bandages, making sure they were clean and well in place, and his fingers trailed on her bare skin where there were scratches and bruises. Gilmiel too was surprised by all these small injuries as she did not remember the fight had been so brutal, after all it had lasted but a few minutes.

\- What have they done to you... he sighed, as he guided her into the basin.

\- Would you believe I killed one? she said, staring at her hands. Gilmiel the Orc Slayer, they shall call me...

It made Fingon smile just as he was pouring water on her hair to wash it.

\- I heard the master at arms who trained was outstanding, was he not?

She chuckled softly, tilting her head back so her husband could apply a lotion, from the roots to the tip of her hair. He gave her a very welcome scalp massage and she closed her eyes.

\- I'm afraid I did not listen very well to his lessons, for I might have gotten distracted by his stunning looks.

\- He sure is handsome, laughed Fingon, rinsing each strand with great care. Yet, in an ideal word, ought you not stroll around the woods without having to worry about Orcs, or some other foul creatures?

Part of him still felt grim and as he helped his wife dressing up, he promised himself next time he would hunt, he would go after Orcs.

* * *

Arastor, Belegorn and their people were able to accommodate all of their guests for the night and a large dinner was held in the main hall where torches and a vast fireplace pleasantly heated the air. A few more Men had arrived from the village and they had brought with them some of the hunt's best prizes, much to the delight of everyone. The smell of roasting deer and fresh bread drew all guests to the tables faster than any call could have and a merry gathering took place, leading to many discussions.

Adanel and her mother were asking Arastor about his concoctions, and a few other of his teas and broths, and the Elf happily obliged them, promising to come visit them during Spring when the plants he used would be blooming. Aegnor and Aradan were telling Belegorn of their hunt party - their account might have been a bit biased, but hopefully neither Maedhros nor Fingon overheard them. The former was answering Magor's questions about the proper tending of horses, while the latter pampered his wife, cutting her meat and worrying about the warmth of her draught. The bath and the food had given Gilmiel some colors back and bundled up as she was in a woolen grey cloak and fox furs, she felt a bit too hot, yet said nothing about it to Fingon who still feared the caverns were too damp for her condition.

\- Your cheeks have gone red, are you perhaps running a fever?

\- The mulled wine is to be blamed, for sure, she reassured him with a smile.

Frowning, Fingon put a hand on her forehead, then sniffed her cup. As much as his wife tried to act normally, he had noticed she stood much closer to him than usual and she kept casting him furtive looks, as if too make sure he was well by her side. And so his left hand rested firmly on her knee and he considered everything around them to be a possible threat to his wife's health, from what was in their dish to the rugs on the stony floor.

\- If my Lady does not like her mulled wine, would I be allowed to finish her cup? asked Magor who had been denied the privilege of a grown-up drink, unlike his sister Adanel who had had two fingers of miruvor.

His parents were too deeply immersed in discussion to pay attention to his request and in fact Magor was hoping that lady Gilmiel would prove more lenient than them on the specific matter of drinking.

\- A sip could not hurt you, I suppose, she admitted.

\- And what will you give the Lady in exchange for her permission and her wine, young Magor? teased Maedhros.

\- Does my Lady like marbles? I do have a large collection of them and Adanel gave me hers also, for she fancies it is too childish now for her, was Magor answer.

\- I will consider your generous offer, Magor, said Gilmiel, chuckling. But the wine could also be a rightly earned reward, as I have spoken with Arastor and Belegorn and both confirmed me you have not uttered a word about what our secret password could be.

A hand on his heart, Magor declared solemnly:

\- My Lady, we shared an adventure, and you shall find in me an ever faithful friend.

Gilmiel, Fingon and Maedhros laughed joyfully, but the boy was not quite done yet, for something else had been bothering him.

\- I overheard my father and lord Aegnor saying their team had done best at the hunting party, is it true that they even managed to catch one of these silver fox who are barely ever seen south of lake Mithrim?

Maedhros scowled at Aegnor, while Fingon exclaimed forthwith:

\- It was no fox, just a weasel!

His voice was loud enough that Aradan and Aegnor heard it, and the bickering started all over again, a sure sign that everything was back to normal.

\- Magor, you woke up the bears, said Gilmiel, before emptying her cup of mulled wine.

* * *

In the morning, it was time for partings, although everyone was sure to meet again soon, and there was much more merriment than sadness in the words exchanged then. Gilmiel and Fingon thanked anew Belegorn, bidding him to come stay at Barad Eithel with his brother whenever he would wish to. Fingon also offered him the wide antlers of the stag he had been so proud to catch, a gesture that did not go by unseen and long after would Maedhros and Aegnor tease him about this. And Arastor had prepared a small gift for Adanel, as he handed her over his package they all noticed she blushed furiously.

\- Well, thank you, my Lord, she said, unfolding the wrapping paper with great care, it is most gracious of you.

\- I told you I am no lord, Adanel, said the Elf, amused.

\- Oh! But this is the herbarium we had a look at yesterday! cried the young girl, pressing the book against her chest.

At that moment, Gilmiel felt a small hand squeezing hers and found Magor who, oblivious of his sister's joy, had sneaked by her side.

\- My Lady, he muttered and she had to bend over to hear him well, I think Arastor and Belegorn are brave and noble enough to be told our password.

\- If you think so, go tell them, Magor.

And the boy made his way to Belegorn first, who smiled when the mysterious words were whispered in his ear, and then to Arastor who was too busy receiving endless thanks from Adanel to notice Magor was pulling his cloak.

\- Elbereth Gilthoniel! ended up shouting the young one, before realizing he had disclosed outloud his precious password.

* * *

It doesn't bring much to the story that Belegorn and Arastor are twins, but I just imagined them like that... Belegorn means 'mighty tree' and Arastor 'deer brother' (sounds weird, I'd say it's more like 'the brother who is associated with deers'), names plainly related to the forest.

I assumed they would know who Gilmiel was, they could easily guess from her appearance she was one of the Exiles, and also she's married to the prince of Hithlum, it's more than likely that they have seen her before or heard about her.

Magor stole the show, I meant for Adanel to be more present, but somehow the little brother took more place.

And I kept geography really vague, because I'm quite confused about it myself.


	15. Chapter 14

I changed a bit the title of the fic, since I had no idea what to name it at first and also because whenever I read "Starlight" it reminds me of the Sailor Starlights in Sailor Moon and the music starts playing in my head (not quite unpleasant, yet totally irrelevant). Also I like the equation needle + sword = spear.

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

 **416 Y.S.**

Three and sixty years had passed since that "cavern adventure" had taken place, yet she had remained the same and in her eyes shone the light of the Undying Lands. She had looked like a maiden back then - and still did -, and as a boy it had been only natural to him that Elves looked young, but the old man he had become laid quite a different eye on this everlasting youth. He now perceived that they too were aged, and he knew that even on his deathbed, white and wrinkled as he may ever become, he would still be a lad next to her and those of her kind. Somehow this thought did not sadden him, on the contrary it lightened his mood, and when he stepped forward to greet her, his smile was broad.

\- Does my Lady recognize an old friend?

She was back from the Falas, where her father dwelled, and on her way north she had stayed in Tol-Sirion, where her friend Aglarwen's son, Orodreth, ruled. The company around her was a small one: two maids that followed in all her travels, a lady with whom she shared her love of sewing and looming, and a few of her lord husband's men formed her escort. As great celebrations were getting ready around Eithel Sirion, they had not expected any particular welcome and all were puzzled by this tall Man who walked towards them, waving, and whose noble features were weather-beaten - not by the wind or the rain however, but by time itself. All, save for Gilmiel, who knew him well, for despite the silver and white strands that ran through his golden hair, his pale blue eyes had retained all their youthfulness, and his smile was still a bit mischievious.

\- Magor! Of course you would have come!

She took hold of his hands, on which now purple veins were visible, and pressed them warmly.

\- I wouldn't have missed the King's little merrymaking, rumour has it that a wonderful gift will be given to my grandson, said Magor, gallantly bowing and kissing her right hand. And I wanted to greet you once more, lady Gilmiel.

\- The pleasure is all mine, truly.

\- Oh, I'm afraid a few furrows have caused my face some damages, and I do not offer such a splendid sight as you deserve, my Lady, but I have not lost a drop of my vigor yet, he laughed, offering her his arm. As for my Lady, you are delightfully beautiful, as was to be expected.

\- Your line is more flourishing than mine, though.

\- I did achieve this one thing, I reckon.

She chuckled.

\- I thought your main goal was to be as tall as an Elven lord, she said, as they entered the main hall, where Men and Elves alike busied themselves, hanging banner on the walls and dressing long wooden tables.

\- It is true I was long worried I would never grow past boyhood, admitted Magor, but this matter was settled before I reached 20, hopefully. Yet I do remember how great you and your lord husband looked when I first saw you, and to that day this impression has never quite left me.

It was a peculiar sight these two offered, striding arm in arm through the hall, for they could have been a grandfather and a granddaughter, yet they acted like two old friends. Magor felt like a lad again and he knew not whether it was due to being among Elves or to the splendor of his own grandson. His laugh was that of a little boy and for a moment King Fingolfin, Fingon and Hador wondered who had come when he and Gilmiel, closely followed by her travel companions, entered the King's parlor.

\- My good lords, I found this charming lady in the court, it seems she has come back from the south, announced Magor, bowing as low as his tired back would allow him to.

\- And I have had the pleasure of being welcomed by an unexpected friend, said Gilmiel.

She helped Magor in a seat next to Hador - truth be told he was not so powerless, but he liked the attention all the same. And if Magor had sat down, all others had risen and greetings of all sorts were said, for Gilmiel had been away all winter and spring, and with her had gone a few who belonged to the inner circle of the King and the Prince.

\- I trust your father fares well, said King Fingolfin, as they all settled down

\- He does, indeed, replied Gilmiel, and on his behalf I brought back many plans and books he deemed would prove useful to you, my Lord, or, at the very least, entertain you, he hopes.

\- I am very grateful for it seems I did take a liking to stonecraft over the years, said the King, smiling.

He then turned around, adressing the captain of Gilmiel's escort

\- I would presume you also learned a few basic lessons, Amathor? Was it not the first time you met lord Carmon?

\- I heard much about stone and walls, your Grace, much more than about ships, surprisingly, admitted the captain in a very serious tone.

Fingolfin, Fingon and Gilmiel laughed, and even Hador and Magor, who did not quite grasp what the joke was about, could not help but grin.

\- Poor Amathor had to follow my father and I in all of our errands, said the Lady. It must have been such a dull task for him that he might have thought you meant to punish him when you sent him along with me, she added, looking at her husband whose hands she pressed in hers.

Amathor was part of the younger Noldor, born in Beleriand under the Sun and the Moon, and his mother was one of the Sindar of the North. He was a skilled archer, and a fearsome warrior, one of those who had chased Glaurung on the Ard-Galen under the command of Fingon. And since then the Prince held him in high esteem and he would sometimes bid him to escort his wife when she had to travel without him.

\- My Lady, I assure you I was honoured lord Carmon would share some of his lore with me, said Amathor hurriedly.

\- And what was it that you were told of, if I may ask? stepped in Magor, his blue eyes sparkling with playfulness.

\- Of bedrock and foundations, mostly, answered the captain, dutifully. The deeper grounds in the Falas are limestone for greater part, which means that over time erosion might endanger some of the buildings along the shoreline, and a tower raised at the edge of a cliffed coast—

\- I'm afraid there is no need to waste anymore of your breath trying to explain the hazards of erosion to an old man who has never set his eyes on the sea, said Magor, chortling. I simply wondered if you would prove as diligent as you seem be.

Amathor stared at Magor, puzzled.

\- Please excuse my grandfather and his waggish wit, lord Amathor, said Hador, feeling he should come to the rescue of the captain. You do not have to pretend you find his humor funny, however.

Everyone burst in laughters, for these days were all about merriments, and even Amathor, who was a rather somber and straight to the point fellow, managed to smile, although he was not sure why he did it. This good mood dragged on - much to Amathor's expense - till the ceremonies were about to begin and they all had to go about their own business.

* * *

King Fingolfin, Fingon and Hador stood side by side, on a dais richly decorated, and they looked superb. The King wore a mithril crown, simple, yet finely crafted. He was clad in white and silver, and he also had donned his gleaming armour with his sword girded at his side. Fingon, who was greatly alike his father, had perhaps a fiercer glint in his eyes that day, and it seemed to all he embodied wholly the attributes of a mighty warlord. He had favored dark blue, and the gold in his braids glimmered, and his sharp features had a solemn expression - outside his inner circle, he rarely was seen otherwise. As for Hador, next to these high lords, he had no reason to blush for his figures were as imposing as theirs, and he was full of youth and vigor. When he was presented the Dragon-helm, his smile was simply dazzling, and Elves and Men alike fell for his elegant demeanor.

In the crowd Gilmiel and Magor stood side by side, but both were absorbed in different thoughts, as the former stared at Fingon, while the latter only had eyes for Hador. The Lady did not like this Dragon-helm, mostly because she despised the image of the Great Worm and she wondered why the Naugrim had chosen to honour such a wicked enemy with their craft - not to mention neither Maedhros nor Fingon could have worn it, for it was too large and too heavy for Elves. Yet she too had to admit this gift was well-suited, since such was the might of Hador that he stood on par with the Noldorin princes and being of thicker built than them, he could hold the helm high, almost effortlessly.

\- He's a sturdy lad, this one, isn't he, my Lady? whispered Magor.

She nodded, she was quite surprised herself Hagor had reached a height similar to Fingon and the King's.

\- At first I reckoned this helm was nothing but a clever device Elven lords meant to use to pull a prank on my grandson, Magor went on. But in the end it seems your lord husband has chosen his gift with great care.

\- Why would the Prince jest? Dor-lómin has been granted to your House and the King himself has become rather fond of lord Hador, therefore I highly doubt he would allow any sort of silly game to take place today.

Amathor had stood not far, and his concern was genuine by the sound of it. Magor took a long look at him, a smile still lingering on his lips, and for a moment Gilmiel thought he would not resist the urge to tease the captain.

\- You are an odd fish, lord Amathor, said the old man. But I hope you will be seated not far from me this evening, for I look forward chatting with you.

\- So do I, lord Magor.

From the look in Amathor's grey eyes, it was plain he was puzzled by Magor's speech, yet he was too respectful to call him an odd fish as well. He was about to ask the Man if all his folk's elders had wits like his, but a clamor rose when Hador put his helm on, and the captain's inquiries were lost in the happy cries of the crowd. The Men chanted a song of old, as Fingolfin and Fingon embraced Hador, and the great hall was filled with cheers, for a precious friendship had been sealed, a bond that would never be forgotten.

The feast that followed was quite a splendid party, and Hador took place at the King Fingolfin's right, on the long table that had been set on the dais. There were also Gildis, Hador's wife, whose belly was round with the couple's second child, and Fingon and Gilmiel who had much to say to one another after months of being apart. And down, not so far, Magor and Amathor had become great friends, and the old man was telling the Elven captain of how he and his sister had grown to be close to lady Gilmiel during their childhood. Amathor had indeed wondered why the grandfather of Hador was allowed to act so familiar around the Lady and lord Fingon, for he did not know it had been Magor and Adanel who had been in the cave with Gilmiel.

\- I owe much to the Lady, said Magor, with a hoarse laugh. She did pour me my first cup of wine, after all.

\- Was that after you escaped the Orcs? How old were you then, if I may ask? inquired Amathor, as serious as ever.

\- About twelve, why?

\- Were you not too young to drink wine? said Amathor, genuinely surprised. Although I'm afraid I do not know much about the children of your folk and their growth, yet would I be right to presume the whole process is faster than for us, Elves?

\- By the time we are five, we are usually fully grown, and weddings are celebrated early also, for it is customary to take a bride at around ten.

\- Is that so?

\- You did know my grandson Hador is barely fifteen, right?

Amathor, astonished, gaped as he stared at Hador Lórindol and at his neatly trimmed beard. That gave Magor another idea, for he added:

\- And did you also know our male babies are born with this facial hair?

\- Really? exclaimed Amathor, his eyes round.

Magor could not hold it anymore and he burst out laughing so loudly that most guests at their table turned around to look at him. It was only when the old man was done wiping the tears his mirth had made him shed that Amathor had understood that some jest had been going on.

\- Taunting is a habit of yours, it seems, he grumbled.

\- Oh, lord Amathor, cheer up! Isn't it a wonderful day, after all? said Magor, clapping vigorously Amathor's back and pouring more wine in his cup.

It was a glorious day, indeed, and after that, in Hithlum, Elves and Men alike set their eyes to the North with a renewed confidence. They almost forgot a siege could never bring everlasting peace.

* * *

 **circa 440 Y.S.**

Although he never uttered a word about it, King Fingolfin greatly missed his family. He missed his father and mother, his brother and sisters, and even his half-brother, his wife, and son and daughter, his granddaughter, and also this grandson he had never met, but only heard of. Of course, this longing found much comfort in the presence of Fingon who ever stood by his father's side and who had become over the decades a pillar in Fingolfin's life. The King also cherished the visits the sons of Finarfin would pay him, for he had much love for his nephews - as for the sons of Fëanor, even for all the feuds that stood between them, they still were his kin and he would not spurn them, especially Maedhros and Maglor.

Yet it happened that sometimes the King's mood grew rather melancholic, and to the west his gaze turned, and to the past, his heart. At times like these, he would often ask his daughter-in-law to take a walk with him in the gardens near Eithel Sirion, and under the pretence of telling her of the family's history, he would fondly recall anecdotes that had made up his daily life, long before the darkness. Somehow Fingolfin found it easier to open about this to his son's wife, perhaps because she was a good listener, or it might have been that it felt more simple to confide certain matters to someone with whom he was not blood-related. And over the centuries, Gilmiel had come to know these stories well and she liked to request some of her favorites, much to King's pleasure, for he did not tire to dwell in happy memories. Gilmiel especially enjoyed hearing of the adventures of little Fingon, whose early boldness had caused his parents many a fright.

\- Were you and my son to have a child, the same might just happen, and in your eyes every nook and cranny would turn into a dangerous playground, said the King, one day. During his first few decades, Fingon's favorite hobby was to climb from one balcony to another, till he would reach my father's tower top - that is, if no one caught him doing it and put a stop to his ascent. Again and again my wife and I found ourselves grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him back inside, but it never deter him to try once more, as soon as we would let down our guard...

Gilmiel chuckled, but said nothing, and Fingolfin deemed it was the right time to question about something that had been bothering him for years and years.

\- Forgive me to ask, but do you and Fingon discuss it not often? inquired the King, eyeing her. I would not pry on such private matters, yet I understand it gives you two great trouble.

His wording was vague, however she understood at once what he had meant.

\- If truth be told, with every passing of Spring, the yearning of having a child grows keener in my heart, confessed Gilmiel, after a long silence. And Fingon feels the same, and more than I does he believe we should surrender to our desire, for he deems it is the right decision.

Fingolfin had stopped on a stone bridge, leaning on its fence. Ahead was a pond, on its surface bloomed white and purple waterlilies, and the banks were covered with a thick green moss, soft enough for a few does to rest on.

\- Gilmiel, you fear the siege might be broken anytime, do you not? Everything has been so peaceful, for decades now, and our realms have grown strong, it would be quite easy to forget that the war is not over.

\- It would also be unwise to forget the Enemy stands still, was Gilmiel's stern answer.

The King sighed, for he knew she was right, yet his heart told him otherwise. It also pained him greatly to note how troubled she had become because of his initial question, how it stirred conflicting feelings within her.

\- Yes, it is wise to be wary, Gilmiel. However the wish of conceiving a child has left none of you two, and I suspect there might be some fair reason behind this.

\- What do you presume, my Lord? she asked in a low voice, staring at the sleepy does.

Fingolfin's majestic face was tensed and it seemed his neatly crafted crown had become a burden, for his brow furrowed. When he spoke, his voice was solemn and his every word, chosen with care.

\- I tell you, Gilmiel, you and Fingon should trust your insight. For I foresee it, when all of the old Kings will have passed West, a single heir shall remain in these lands and high and long he will shine, this son of yours.

He had taken her hand in his, gently rubbing it with his thumb. Gilmiel's gaze was yet set on the pond, and tears rolled down on her cheeks. But her mind was finally settled.

* * *

Gil-Galad is coming soon! For some reason, he has always been one of my favorites, although we don't get to see much of him. I wish there'd be a really long novel like the LotR but about the War of Last Alliance, I'd take more of the Second Age anytime...


	16. Chapter 15

**To SleepEatRead:** Finduilas is indeed Gil-Galad's elder sister if you consider that Orodreth is his father, but since I chose to go along with the genealogy displayed in the Silmarillion, Fingon is Gil-Galad's father in my story. So in that case Finduilas and Gil-Galad would be second cousins, not siblings^^.

On a side note, I do wonder why Gil-Galad's family history is so confused though, because his claim as a High-King of the Noldor seems pretty strong, even though Celebrimbor is a grandson of Fëanor (I guess with Maedhros giving up the title in favor of Fingolfin, the whole Fëanor line lost its claim as well? Also, those kinslayings mustn't have helped...) and Eärendil was Turgon's grandson also... Oh well, that's why I like it straight, I wish Gil-Galad would have been Fingon's son. The end.

 **-Also I've added a new chapter between chapter 1 and 2, there was stuff I wanted to add.-**

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 **449 Y.S. Winter**

Fingon had begrudgingly left his wife and he still wondered why it had been so painful to be away from her. After all, he had been gone but for a few days, on a very plain patrol north of lake Mithrim, where he had overseen some works that had been done on a watchtower. His presence had not been mandatory, but in winter the lake was beautiful and he had wanted to enjoy the snowy scenery in the wild. However, it had not been a pleasant trip, for Fingon had spent most of his time thinking about Gilmiel and he had been completely oblivious of the white landscapes surrounding him. They had been apart before, for far longer, yet it had never worried him, nor had it bothered her either. But something was different this time, and it made Fingon uneasy to be on the road while she had stayed south of the lake, in that same location where they had held their wedding at.

On the morning he had departed, with a few of his men, he had not shown up in the courtyard at dawn, like it had been decided. He actually had been so late that one of his captain had knocked at his door, thinking something ill had befallen his Lord, for it was not Fingon's habit to cause any delay. The truth was, he simply had not wanted to let go of Gilmiel, and it had been his wife herself who had wiggled her way out his arms and pushed him out of their chambers. Off you go, o fool of a husband, she had said, giggling, as he had put some last kisses on the hollow of her throat, where it tickled her most. But he had known that for once she too would have rather kept him close and after Fingon had bidden his captain to go first, he had caught Gilmiel again - it had not been very difficult as she had been quite willing to let him have his way with her. When he had finally given in and joined his men in the stables, Fingon had felt slightly giddy, and when he had passed the gates, on horseback, he had wanted to turn back right away. He had indeed behaved like a silly youngster, and he did not even know why.

\- Does it look as it always does, Amathor? asked Fingon, nodding towards the settlements where they were heading back and where he would soon reunite with Gilmiel.

\- It does, my Lord, said Amathor, dubious. Should I notice something, perhaps?

\- No, not all.

It had crossed Fingon's mind that his restlessness might have been caused by some sense of foreboding, and he had suddenly feared his wife could be in danger, like she had been in the cavern, years and years ago.

\- Were there any reports of Orcs sighting lately?

\- No, my Lord.

Fingon eased up a bit. Snow had fallen heavily in the area for the last two days, it was highly unlikely that Gilmiel would have gone very far from the houses. And she loved too much to tend the swans to leave the lake's banks.

\- Thus everything is peaceful, he whispered to himself, staring at the sky, full of white clouds heavy with snow.

\- Is something the matter, my Lord?

Fingon shook his head, yet he pressed his horse to go faster, even though there was at least a yard of snow on the ground. Past the light fortifications, the air was already warmer and although the winter winds did not affect much Elves, they were pleased to see smoke puffs rising from the chimneys. Their mounts were in a similar mood, for some of them whinnied when they neared the stables, but Fingon was already elsewhere. He had caught sight of one of Gilmiel's handmaid and jumping down his horse, he swiftly strode towards her.

\- Would you know where my wife is right now? he inquired.

\- She is in the aviary, my Lord, said the maid, bowing. And, if I may say a word, it is a relief you have come back.

\- Has something happened to Gilmiel? said Fingon sharply.

\- No, my Lord, but over the last days the Lady's behavior has been rather... odd.

\- Odd, you say?

\- She has been feverish, told him the maid, choosing her words with care. We saw her pace around her balcony at night, and during the day she has had a hard time focusing on even the simplest tasks. And though she does not seem unwell, I presume she has been very anxious for your return, my Lord.

Fingon was only mildly surprised to hear this, as he had suspected his wife to feel frantic like he did.

\- I will be off to see her, then, he said quickly.

He did find Gilmiel outside the aviary and she was inspecting one of its windows whose glass had broken, probably already conceiving some plans to renovate the whole building - she had inherited from her father a taste for refurbishment.

\- Do you plan on repairing it yourself, dearest? he shouted.

Upon hearing him, she spun around, sprinted towards him, hair and cloak flowing behind her, and she flung herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He was delighted to hug her, yet he understood what the maid had meant by 'feverish' for Gilmiel had never acted like this before, not even when he would come back from battle. But there she was, holding onto him, her feet not touching the ground, and she smiled and giggled, so much that Fingon could not help but share her glee.

\- Why so merry, Glíves? he asked, nuzzling her hair. Have you greatly missed your husband perchance?

Her smell was sweet, her skin soft, and she stared at him with starry eyes, but darted his attempt at kissing her.

\- There is something you need to know, my love, she said, slowly breaking away from him.

He tried to coax her back into his arms, however she rebuffed him gently, even though the looks she threw him had rarely been so enticing. There was a glint in her eyes he had never seen before.

\- Do not tease me too long, please, he begged, for he felt possessed by the same frenzy he had experienced on the morning of his departure.

Gilmiel took his hands in hers, and placed them on her belly.

\- Do you feel it?

\- Feel what ...? he mumbled, confused. What is this... Oh! Gilmiel, is it... is it...

She nodded frantically.

\- Come back here, Fingon said, as he hugged her closer than ever. And tell me out loud this our child you are carrying.

\- It is, I am pregnant, she said, cupping his face. I became aware of it barely a few hours after you left and it has been a real torment to wait for your return! I wouldn't have told anyone else first!

He gazed at her with bliss, at loss for words. Gilmiel smiled broadly, as she was stroking his cheeks, and again she put one of his hands on her belly. Under the layers of her white dresses, Fingon could feel the warmth of her skin and a beneath it, the small sparkle of a soul.

\- It's already a fierce little flame, isn't it?

Fingon bent his head and with trembling fingers he traced circles on his wife's stomach.

\- Yes... he whispered. So tiny, and yet so vigorous...

He kissed her temple and his lips lingered on her forehead, on her bright hair.

\- I love you, Glíves, you have made me happier than anyone else could have.

\- You know I feel exactly the same, she whispered in his ear.

They shared a long kiss and after cuddling a bit, they went for a stroll on the lake's shore where they let themselves dream of their future family, ignoring for a while the shadows of Angband. It was one of those blessed days, one during which husband and wife felt the bond between them could overthrow anything, and they laughed and danced as if Summer had suddenly come. Along the white banks, their silhouettes could be seen twirling from time to time, light and dark hair flowing in the wind, and indeed this afternoon was memorable. At sunset, when the Sun disappeared West and the Moon brought a silvery light on the freshly fallen snow, Fingon and Gilmiel decided to keep their secret to themselves for a couple of days, before announcing it to their fathers, and then to all others.

It was quite obvious to those dwelling with them on the shores of lake Mithrim that something was going on, for the Prince and his Lady shared a mirth they did not try to conceal, but once it was out, the news of the pregnancy was still astonishing to most, as well as celebrated in due form during days and days, for it was a rare occurrence. Gilmiel had sent a letter to her father, in the Falas, and lord Carmon showed up as soon as the winds would allow his ship to sail, but it was King Fingolfin's display of happiness that was the warmest to witness.

Very soon, Fingon and Gilmiel went to meet him in Eithel Sirion and both did their best to conceal their excitement, at least long enough to stage their announcement. They brought him in the gardens, near the very pond in front of which Fingolfin and his daughter-in-law had discussed her reluctance to have a baby, a few years ago. And once he was surrounded Fingon and Gilmiel, and that both of them had linked their arm with his, the King started suspecting what their grins could be about.

\- What it is that you mean to tell me, children? he said, looking at them alternately. It should not be too unpleasant to my ears, should it?

\- It is no habit of mine to bring you bad tidings, Father.

\- Indeed, admitted Fingolfin, and Gilmiel would not mistreat me.

\- Have I ever caused you any distress, my Lord? she said, doing her best not to giggle.

\- Has she not always been a sweet daughter to you? added Fingon who was openly laughing and that was a sure sign a merry event was about to take place.

\- Is that why you two wished to take a stroll with me? To tease me?

\- We would not, Father.

\- Then tell me exactly what I want to hear! exclaimed Fingolfin, bursting into a joyful laughter.

They had not seen him display such a sheer joy in a long time - Fingon would have sworn it had not happened since they had left Aman - and suddenly the King looked younger and lighter, as if some heavy weight had been taken off his shoulders.

\- We are expecting a child, Father, finally announced Fingon. Come next winter you will have the pleasure of holding your third grandchild in your arms.

\- Oh, it is true then, whispered Fingolfin, frantic.

He kissed Gilmiel on both cheeks and hugged his son almost roughly, patting his back with a dangerous enthusiasm.

\- Have you two given any thoughts on how this little one shall be named? asked the King, holding Fingon and Gilmiel close to him, by the shoulders. The time might be appropriate for a thorough study of our family's names, as only a well-rounded understanding of these traditions will enable you to pick a perfect name, my son. Of course, Gilmiel can rely on her motherly instincts, and we should hope that soon enough she will catch a glimpse of the child's future, but you, Fingon, is it not your duty to ensure your heir shall be called in the fashion his ancestors?

And this was only a short introduction of what Fingolfin had to say upon learning that he would be a grandfather for the third time. He would have never belittled the love he bore Idril - not only was she his first grandchild, but he had also taken great care of her during the terrible crossing of the ice, after her mother's death -, and never would he forget that his beloved Aredhel had given birth to a son who now lived in Gondolin. Yet Fingon's child, especially if it turned out to be a male, would belong to a different category, for it would the heir of Finwë's house. And so Fingolfin felt he needed to bring forth all of his lore, which meant his speech would be by far one of his longest, and Fingon and Gilmiel were in for an evening and a night full of old and wonderful tales.

* * *

The year of Gilmiel's pregnancy was the happiest time the couple had been through so far. They mostly dwelled on the shores of lake Mithrim, as they felt it was the best place for the baby to be born at, and spent their leisure time walking or riding around the area, trying to guess which one of their features the child would inherit - it had become their favorite game. Of course Gilmiel also busied herself sewing baby clothes, blankets and various fabric toys and soon a whole chest was filled with so many items that Fingon teased her they had enough spare for quite large family. But both parents knew one child was already a miracle and it was enough to fill their heads with the most extravagant desires parenthood could inspire them.

This long-awaited baby would not be dotted on by his grand-mothers, yet the grand-fathers had resolved to put twice the effort to pamper the new born and whenever they were left together to discuss the matter, they ended up doing the silliest things - Gilmiel had once caught her father trying to knit what he had claimed to be a blanket, but looked more like an ugly mushroom. Fingon also had to stop Fingolfin from ordering a miniature armour set from the smiths, for by the third month of pregnancy it had become clear it would be a little boy, and the King fancied that a tiny shield and a tiny helm were charming and appropriate items to give to a toddler.

\- And do not think I will let you take him away from us, like Mother and you did with Idril, Fingon warned his father.

\- Turgon and Elenwë never complained about us taking care of her from time to time, said Fingolfin, shrugging.

\- I do not remember they were so glad to have missed her first steps and her first word, said Fingon. And shall I remind you what this first word was?

\- Alright, rest assure I will behave blamelessly, swore Fingolfin, sighing. And please, if perchance she does not know it already, do not tell Gilmiel what this first word was, I would not want her to beware of me.

\- Do not worry, she will keep thinking you are a flawless step-father.

It was a well kept secret that Idril's first word had been 'grandfather'. In itself it was not so tragic, had she not spent afterwards almost a full year calling everything and everyone 'grandfather', not because she did not master speech well, but because she thought it was the funniest thing ever, encouraged as she had been by Fingolfin who had felt endlessly proud of his precious granddaughter.

\- Was it not adorable, though? She called Turgon 'grandad' till she was 10, if I recall well.

Fingon smiled, for back then his brother's dismay had greatly entertained him too.

\- I would rather have my own son call me 'father' if it is not too much to ask for.

\- Why would he not? asked Gilmiel, who peered in the parlor, in search of her husband.

Pregnancy had caused a few changes in her appearance, for the best. Her eyes were even brighter, her cheeks were pumpler than usual, that suited well her heart-shaped face, and she often absentmindedly rubbed her belly whose bump was now well apparent despite her wearing flowy creamy dresses.

\- I thought you would be taking a nap, dearest, said Fingon, hurriedly helping her in a comfy armchair.

\- I slept well enough last night, she said.

\- You are only halfway through pregnancy, would it not be wise to save your strength for later?

\- Do I look weary? she wondered, patting her face.

\- You look perfectly healthy, stated Fingolfin who offered her a cup of hot tea. And so you will six months from now, I would wager.

\- I do recall my own mother saying that carrying a child seemed a greater burden that it really is, said Gilmiel, gratefully sipping her drink. Especially to those who will never face such situation, she added, glancing at Fingon with a smile.

He was standing next to her and squeezed her shoulder gently.

\- He does remember well the times his mother was pregnant with his brother, and then with his sister, said Fingolfin, who had sitten as well. She could not have been idle for a year, and she willingly went on with her daily tasks almost until the end.

\- It is all true, admitted Fingon. Yet it is quite a different feeling now that it is my own wife and my own child I have to look after.

\- I was not so composed myself, at first, said Fingolfin and he let out a discreet sigh.

For a while, the King was lost in memories, happy and sad ones, and Fingon thought of his sister - her loss had by far been the worst event he had had to face in his entire life. As for Gilmiel, she stared at her belly, her hands protectively resting on it, and reflected that it would be very nice indeed if her mother were to be by her side.

\- Would it not be pleasant if this young one had golden hair, like you, Gilmiel? suddenly broke in Fingolfin, before their mood went gloomy.

\- I have a feeling he will be more akin to his father, my Lord, she said, chuckling. For already he displays boldness and dares disturb me with his little kicks while I rest.

\- Is that so? exclaimed Fingolfin, delighted. It was to be expected, I suppose.

\- And he usually stirs up when I am around, he recognizes my voice, said Fingon, with a pride Fingolfin knew too well.

\- Shall you sing a song for him, then? suggested the King. It would be most pleasant to soothe him before dinner, Gilmiel might enjoy more her meal if your little one is sleeping.

Fingon readily complied, and he ended up singing more than one song, for he could not choose one over the other, and neither his father nor his wife would complain to hear his voice. And many evenings did they spend together like this - usually Gilmiel's father would also join them - and they hoped that many more of these were to come before the shadows of the North would wake up.

* * *

Although I like way more the idea that Gil-Galad is Fingon's son, and not Orodreth's, it seems illogical that Fingon would have a baby this late no? Being the proactive warlord he was he would have known very well what a risky business it was to have a kid as long as Morgoth was not defeated. You'd think it'd be more like Orodreth to have a child last minute (with all due respect, this guy was overruled so many times, it doesn't look like he had a very strong character). Anyways since I think it's unlike Fingon to have a son this late, I used the clumsy 'foresight trick' to explain his decision, after all the sons of Finarfin couldn't have been the only ones feeling that the winds of north would eventually extinguish their flames... hence the need to produce a scion of kings :)

When my little cousin started speaking, she called everything a cat. We went to the farm together, we saw lots of cats. Some had feathers, some had hooves, but they were all cats.

Also I wonder if Elves drank tea (at least during the FA).


	17. Chapter 16

I had nothing specific planned for this chapter, but surprisingly it was one of the easiest to write.

Gil-Galad's names are sometimes as confusing as his genealogy, so here's a quick recap. **Artanáro** ("Noble flame/fire") is his father-name in Quenya, **Rodnor** is this same father-name, but in Sindarin. **Gil-Galad** ("Star of bright light") is his mother-name, in Sindarin (no Quenya form for this one), and this one is usually given later on, so I won't be using it right now - but that's the one Gil-Galad himself preferred. He also has an espessë, **Ereinion** ("Scion of Kings"), but for now it is not so relevant, and I think he's called **Finellach** Gil-Galad somewhere, although I do not know the meaning of this one.

So for now he only has a father-name, and I should be using the Sindarin form of it since I switched all names to their Sindarin form a few chapters ago, but the truth is I love **Artanáro** much more than **Rodnor** , so I'll go with Quenya and just call him little Artanáro :)

(That was a long explanation, sorry, but Tolkien's work with names/etymology can't be overlooked)

And by the way I realized the Sindarin form of Ilmië should have been Giliel, not Gilmiel (I intended her name to be similar to Gil-Galad's actually).

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

 **450 Y.S. Winter**

It was winter again and Gilmiel felt tired, yet immensely happy. Through the windows of her room she could see large snowflakes fall from the cloudy sky and she knew that whenever she would see snow afterwards, she would be reminded of this beautiful morning. Fire was crackling in the hearth, woolen blankets were piling up on the bed, and a brass basin, filled with warm water, lied on the floor, along with a few towels. Her maids and the healers had just exited the chamber and Gilmiel had been left by herself, her newborn son fast asleep against her chest.

However she was not alone for along, and soon Fingon came in, and rarely had he looked so out of his mind with worry, even though there really was nothing to be afraid of. Mother and son were both perfectly well, for childbirth had been fast and smooth, and but for some well-deserved rest, they needed no special recovery.

\- How do you feel, my beloved? he whispered, stroking his wife's head. And how is he?

\- Do we not look just fine? she said, smiling. Do you want to hold him?

\- Won't I wake him up?

Fingon was staring at his son in utter amazement and it seemed to him he had never seen anything more marvelous than this tiny baby with his round pink cheeks and his tuft of dark hair.

\- Hold him, insisted Gilmiel who was amused by her husband's cute concern.

He very slowly put his hands around the newborn, noting with a jolt that his head looked small in his palm. His hands had never betrayed him before, but he feared they could now that he was holding his most precious treasure. Still very careful with his gestures, he rocked the baby in his arms, humming, and when he felt confident enough, he kissed his forehead, lightly, for he feared to disturb his sleep.

\- What a wonder... sighed Fingon as he sat on the bed, next to his wife.

\- He is beautiful, said Gilmiel, resting her head on his shoulder. I wager than within the next weeks it will become obvious he is your spitting image.

Fingon's smile widened.

\- I have to admit it fills me with great pride, however I do hope he also inherited some of his mother's goodness.

\- His eyes are closed, but once he opens them again you might notice they are just like mine, told him Gilmiel, and she also hardly could contain her satisfaction.

\- Fabulous... It's hard to believe I could be get any happier than this, Glíves.

\- Oh, dearest, the little one and I could still manage to surprise you, I'm sure, said Gilmiel, chuckling and kissing him softly.

\- I am looking forward what's next for us, then, he whispered, kissing her back.

\- Should you tell him what his name is? suggested Gilmiel, in a low voice.

Fingon nodded and he straightened his back, cleared his throat, before addressing the baby, formally.

\- Welcome in our family, Artanáro. May your flame shine as high as I wished it would when I chose this name for you, my son.

Artanáro stirred a bit in his sleep and for a while, they were silent and both delightedly gazed at their baby. They would have stayed like this all day, needing nothing but to be together, but Fingon and Gilmiel knew their own fathers were waiting outside the room, probably plotting to break in any minute.

\- Shall we open them the door? said Fingon, delicately handing back his little bundle to his wife and rising from the bed.

\- It would be cruel not to, she laughed, adjusting the blankets around her and her baby.

The grandfathers were ecstatic, yet they restrained their enthusiasm well, and as she saw her father holding his grandson, Gilmiel felt equally very happy and very sad. Ever since she had left Aman, not a single day had passed without her thinking about her mother and her sister, and this feeling had grown keener during her pregnancy. And now she could only notice how empty the room was. _Artanáro, you have quite a large family... I wonder if you will ever meet your grandmothers... You also have an aunt who stayed in Valinor, and another one, she... And who knows if you will find the way to your uncle's hidden city? This white Gondolin where your two cousins dwell, and there is Rithrion, as well..._ Gilmiel glanced at Fingon and took his hand in hers, as she could tell his mind was wandering, just like hers.

\- Today we should celebrate, we cannot mourn the past while our son has been born, she told him, whispering.

\- How could I allow myself to be melancholic upon seeing our fathers being so happy? he answered with a smile.

King Fingolfin and lord Carmon had always gotten along well, even before their children's wedding, and their grandson's birth was yet another occasion for them to congratulate each other. And of course, they also were very curious as to from whom little Artanáro had taken after.

\- I tell you, lord Carmon, his chin is similar to yours, was saying Fingolfin.

\- Is that so, my Lord? Is he not mostly akin to his father?

\- It seems so, indeed, yet I fear not his mother passed him on some of her features.

\- His hands, perhaps?

\- Perhaps... muttered King Fingolfin, studying closely Artanáro's tiny pink fingers. Do you reckon he will be able to handle the sword and the needle as well?

\- I do not doubt it, and I will make sure he can use the trowel and the compass, said lord Carmon who had great plans for his grandson, and all of them included tall white towers.

\- Not to mention he should become a great archer.

\- What about the spear, my Lord? My wife's people, and that is also your mother's, crafted wonderful spears...

\- Or he could end up using axes like the Men of Hador's house.

The grandfathers could have gone on forever with their predictions had Gilmiel not been wishing to rest with her newborn, for, after all, it had been but hours since the birth had occured. And so after a few last kisses - lord Carmon kept saying to Gilmiel how proud he was of her, and Fingolfin hugged again and again Fingon - the little family could enjoy their first day together, and their time was mostly devoted to sleep and cuddles.

* * *

Three months after Artanáro's birth, Fingon and Gilmiel held small celebrations in Barad Eithel during which they meant to introduce their son to their kin and friends. Spring and the new year had come, and with them they had brought flowers and warm sunrays, therefore the parents had chosen to hold their merrymaking on the vast terrace of the King's tower where the wind carried the fresh scents of the blooming Ard-Galen. Elves and Men had gathered, and notably Haldor and his family had travelled all the way from Dor-lómin, and if guests were not so numerous, it was still difficult for most of them to catch a glimpse of Artanáro.

Indeed, Fingon's cousins - and there was quite a lot of them - had crowded around the cradle, blocking its view from everyone else, and were loudly admiring Artanáro who was very pleased with all the attention and kept smiling and giggling.

\- Maglor and I are the only ones here who saw Fingon when he was a baby, was saying Maedhros who had insisted he should hold the little one first because he was the eldest, and I can testify Artanáro looks just like his father did, but for his eyes. This starlike shine is Gilmiel's.

\- Wouldn't it have been nice if he had had if mother's gold hair as well? said Aegnor.

\- One golden house is quite enough, if you ask me, was Amrod's answer.

The twins, being the youngest, would also be the last to be allowed to take the baby, and that made them a bit grumpy.

\- Does he not share some of my features? asked Maglor, once Maedhros had - rather reluctantly - passed him over Artanáro. His nose is like mine, no?

\- No, said Maedhros, curtly, arms crossed on his chest.

\- That's more like our grandfather's, declared Finrod, grabbing the baby. And this dazzling smile of yours, little one, is akin to my father's and to mine.

\- Nay, it might be our father's, yet it's not yours, stepped in Angrod. Although, judging by the way he clenches his fists, he too could be called Angamaitë soon.

\- Well, he also seems to have a thing for red hair, just like Fingon, said Amras, laughing.

Small Artanáro had firmly grabbed one his strand and would not let it go, pulling it with a surprising force.

\- Oh, I'd still bet he will end up falling in love with a blonde lady, muttered Finrod, as he saw Artanáro wriggle with excitement because Gilmiel was coming toward them.

\- And so, who does he like better among the seven of you? she asked, peering at the cousins and waving at her son who quickly took hold of one of her finger.

\- We wouldn't know, we have yet to all hold him, said Aegnor, and the twins nodded, frowning at their elder brothers. However, little Artanáro greatly drooled on Maglor's fine garbs, it might be a sign of equally great affection.

\- Take him then, you might be luckier, told him Finrod.

\- It is my turn, actually, protested Angrod.

\- You have your own son already.

\- It's been centuries since I cannot carry him in my arms anymore! And I am still your older brother.

Aegnor and the twins were not impressed by Angrod's words, and a heated argument ensued - the sound of his father's cousins angry voices seemed to please a lot Artanáro, for he was staring at them and squealing happily, as Finrod still held him. Gilmiel could not have been surprised that family bickering was not limited to hunt-related matters, however she was a bit worried that her son was enjoying it already.

\- I would very much like to have a look at your son, my Lady, if I may beg of you.

Gilmiel and Finrod turned around and found themselves facing Húrin, Hador's elder grandchild, a boy of twelve, small and skinny, and whose frail frame and clear blue eyes reminded Gilmiel of another lad she had met almost exactly a century ago - Magor. Finrod glanced at her, and then kneeled down.

\- You might as well do it now, young master, for, as long as they quarrel, they won't notice the little prince is gone.

And he was right. Fingon had come forth, wondering why his cousins would argue over an empty cradle, but his questions had been drowned in a sea of reproaches he understood nothing about. Thus Finrod, leaving Artanáro in Húrin's arms, had deemed wise to go to his rescue, or at least to explain to him why seven grown-up Elves could not be trusted with a baby.

Gilmiel stayed by Húrin's side, and she noticed his grip on Artanáro was more confident than she would have expected, but then she thought any boy from the Edain would know far more about babies than the noble princes of Finwë's house, as siblings and cousins of their kind grew up together and helped the parents with the younger ones.

\- But for the sparkles in his eyes, he could be taken for one of our people, noted Húrin, slightly puzzled.

He had never seen nor heard of an Elven baby before and he had pictured them to be somehow a miniature version of their parents, slender and grave. Yet Artanáro was chubby, cheerful and he liked to put anything he could grab in his mouth, whether it was in own foot or someone else's finger.

\- It seems all of Ilúvatar's children have the same starting point, said Gilmiel, stroking the boy's blonde hair. We might be entitled to the same end, also.

Húrin and Gilmiel's gaze met for a second, and the Lady was about to tell him a few stories about his great-grandfather, Magor, and about the other members of his house she had come to know over the decades, but before she could open her mouth, a shout was heard.

\- Finrod, what have you done with Artanáro? Where is he?

This sudden inquiry was not Fingon's - he had seen that his son was in safe hands with Húrin and his wife -, but Maedhros who had realized perhaps too late that he had lost track of the baby. It was not long before the cousins gathered around a nervous Húrin and once more Maedhros claimed his right to hold Artanáro first, oblivious to the general outcry and Fingon and Gilmiel's plead for appeasement. In the end, King Fingolfin stepped in, saved Húrin from the mob and carried away his grandson, who was having much fun on his first party ever.

* * *

 **453 Y.S.**

When Gilmiel was told by one of the maids that little Artanáro's bed was empty and that the child was nowhere to be found in his room nor in his parents', she was not surprised at all, and only slightly worried. Nap time was not something her son cared deeply about, no matter how she insisted he needed rest, and he was much more happy to roam around the tower, thinking no one would notice his presence. These days, Artanáro fancied himself to be skilled at hiding and if he still had troubled not to giggle whenever one of his parents would walk near his hiding place, his small size did enable him to come up with unexpected hideouts - the Grand Squire had once found him a in barrel full of horse grains. And so Gilmiel, putting aside her loom, went to seek her son, trusting he would betray himself as soon as she would enter the room he was in.

However this time Gilmiel had not to look long for Artanáro, as the little one had devised a new way of improving nap time, one that did not required of him to stay still behind a door for hours, waiting for someone to enter the room he was hiding in. She had first gone to check the King's parlor, a room she knew to harbor many good nooks, and there sat King Fingolfin, in front of a wooden table on which a large map of Beleriand was spread. And on his lap Gilmiel discovered Artanáro, whose head rested on his grandfather's chest, his tiny fists gripping the King's jacket.

\- He has begged me for stories of great deeds, yet right after I unrolled the map he has fallen fast asleep, whispered Fingolfin. And since then I dare not move...

\- He does need to rest, said Gilmiel in a ushed voice. And I'd rather have him sleep in here with you, my Lord, than on a haystack near the stables.

\- I shall gladly keep him with me for the time being, then. It would be heartbreaking to wake him up, would it not?

\- It would, indeed, smiled Gilmiel, gently stroking her son's silky dark hair. I will come fetch him later, Fingon has something special planned for him and Artanáro will need to be ready in a few hours.

Fingolfin nodded and Gilmiel left the parlor, casting one last look at the King and his grandson. She always felt incredibly pleased to see Artanáro interact with his grandfathers and it was quite surprising how King Fingolfin and lord Carmon seemed invigorated by the child's laughters - plainly they would do almost anything if it could entertain Artanáro.

Gilmiel remembered well that her own grandparents had given in most of her and her sister's whims, and her cousin, Rithrion, had mastered the art of coaxing them into doing pretty much anything he wanted to. _That is perhaps what grandparents are for, one can always count on them to be spoiled by_ , she thought and on her way back to her own parlor, she met her husband who was busy inspecting a chest full of carpets and tablecloths.

\- I was told Artanáro has escaped again, he told Gilmiel as he got up. But I can assure you he is not in the courtyard, for usually he spies on me from under a basket, not so far from where I train, and it is easy to spot him. After all, normal baskets do not possess any feet and they certainly do not cheer on me when I hit my target...

\- He has gone to your father's parlor, today, and fell asleep there, explained Gilmiel.

\- Ah, so he is taking a nap, said Fingon, relieved. I was afraid he would tire too fast tonight, if he moved around all afternoon.

\- I reckon he will be far too excited to close his eyes at all.

\- True, admitted Fingon, smiling and taking his wife by the arm. Then would you come see me practice archery? I found that my aim improves much when one of my loved one is around.

\- Should I hide under a basket? she teased.

\- How could you? he said, laughing. You ought to know by now that one of my greatest pleasure is to display you around.

He kissed her and dragged her along in the courtyard where, some hours later, King Fingolfin himself brought his grandson down, after Artanáro had waken up from his nap. The two of them were playing a game that involved a lot of poking and laughters. Upon seeing them, Fingon put aside his bow and his quiver and, giving a few last orders to his men, he went to pick up Artanáro.

\- You slept well, little fire? he asked, kissing his son on the forehead. Is your grandfather softer than your bed?

\- Yes, can I take my nap with him tomorrow too?

\- He might have some business to tend to, don't you think?

\- What about Mother's father?

\- Lord Carmon's workshop is opened to everyone, I suppose, even to tiny intruders like you.

\- I'd wager you could help him build the new quarters, west of the King's tower, said Gilmiel who had just joined them.

\- But Mother, you said I should rest...

\- Ah, now you agree you need to sleep more?

Artanáro pouted, carefully considering his dilemma, and it made Fingon laugh.

\- Do you remember I said we would go on an expedition today? he said, stroking the toddler's hair. I trust you gathered your cloak and your travel boots?

Artanáro glanced at his grandfather and Fingolfin handed a pouch to Gilmiel.

\- Will we go to the mountains?

\- As high as we can.

Fingon put his son down and as soon as he was released, Artanáro sprinted toward the stables where their horses were being readied. The child already dreamed of owning a mount, but he was still smaller than most ponies and the stubborn creatures would not listen yet to his orders. And so he would usually ride with one of his parents or grandparents - and sometimes Maedhros, who had promised to gift him with an impetuous stallion when he would be of age. For their expedition in the mountains, Fingon had selected two pale grey mares, that were actually Gilmiel's, for he knew they were of mild temper and would not be startled by his son's sudden burst of laughters. It was not long before they were ready to leave, although it took Artanáro several minutes to decide with whom he would ride, and he finally settled to go up the mountain with his mother, and down with his father. Both King Fingolfin and lord Carmon bid them goodbye and off they were in the wild.

On the mountain slopes they saw squirrels, deers, countless birds and even, to Artanáro's utter delight, a sleep-deprived barn-owl that stared at them with its round yellow eyes. The mares needed not much guidance and the one Gilmiel was riding, with her son, listened carefully to all of the toddler's babbling, her ears turned backwards. Once they deemed they had climbed high enough, they sought for a place to settle down for the night and stopped in a clearing, from where they could enjoy a splendid view of the Ard-Galen. Fingon lit a fire, around which they sat, and they had let loose the horses who were grazing not far from them. After having whistled and sung with the nightingales, at sunset, Fingon and Gilmiel gave Artanáro raspberries and nuts they had picked on the way up there and he swallowed all of it fast. His round cheeks were smeared with the fruits' red juice and as helped his son clean his face, Fingon asked him:

\- Little fire, who is the fairest of them all?

\- Mother is the fairest of all, he said, hugging Gilmiel - and staining her dresses.

Fingon chuckled.

\- I think so too. And who is the most handsome of them all?

\- Maedhros! squealed the child.

\- Maedhros? exclaimed his parents, together.

\- He is the tallest and his hair is red, explained their son very seriously.

Gilmiel was giggling so hard at this, tears appeared in the corner of her eyes.

\- And what about your father? she asked.

Artanáro seemed suddenly confused.

\- Father is the best, he said, as if it was obvious.

\- So is he the most handsome?

\- No, that's Maedhros.

\- Then what makes your father the best?

\- Because when I grow up I want to be like Father, explained Artanáro who seemed earnestly surprised his parents had not already understood that. It is fine if I am not as handsome as Maedhros, but I want to shoot arrows like Father does.

\- Come here, you little fire! said Fingon, grabbing his son and showering him with kisses. You better not say Maedhros is more handsome than I in front of others!

The child chortled and tried to wrestle with his father, although he could not hope to win. They ended up laying on the grass, Fingon locking his son in his arms, and Gilmiel joined them. Artanáro squirmed his way out of his father's hold and nestled himself between his parents, where he felt most at ease.

\- Can we see the Valacirca from here? he asked, starring at the sky.

\- Of course, it is right up there, said Gilmiel, pointing at the bright seven stars, gathered in the form of a sickle.

\- And the Menelmacar? And Soronúmë?

His mother showed him the constellations and she smiled for Artanáro already displayed a great love for the starry sky.

\- Are these the stars great-grandfather saw first when he woke up?

\- Yes, said Fingon, nodding slowly. Elbereth Gilthoniel made them to enlighten the Awakening of the Firstborns, knowing stars would be the first light they would gaze upon.

Artanáro asked a few more questions, that he had already asked several times, and at some point he yawned more than he talked, slowly being overcome by weariness.

\- We should do this again, my love, muttered Gilmiel who was covering Artanáro with his small dark blue cloak. I never saw him being so thrilled.

\- Would that the three of us could spend the whole summer here... sighed Fingon, pulling her close.

And for a start, they spent the rest of the night laying down in the clearing, under the stars. Artanáro, arms and legs spread out, slept on his father's chest, going slightly up and down everything time Fingon breathed. Gilmiel was huddled against her husband, who hugged her, playing absentmindedly with her hair, and both parents had a hand resting on their son's back. They did not talk, for words were not needed to express their bliss, however they exchanged glances, caresses and kisses, moving with great care as they did not want to disturb Artanáro's sleep.

* * *

 **455 Y.S. Winter**

Artanáro's fifth birthday was celebrated on the banks of lake Mithrim, where he was conceived and born, and it happened that a light snow had fallen all day, covering the landscape in white and shiny mantle, exactly like it had five years ago. At night, the sky had gotten clear, displaying its bright stars, and the weather had been good too on the days that followed. King Fingolfin, Hador and his eldest son, Gundor, eventually left Hithlum to head back to Barad Eithel, and it was exactly a week after their departure, while Fingon, Gilmiel and Artanáro were admiring the moonshine, sitting on the rooftop of their house, that they saw the blazing fire in the Northeast and understood at once - even the child - that something terrible had happened.

Fingon had already been mustering troops in order to depart as fast as possible to his father's stronghold when the first reports from Barad Eithel came in, announcing that the Ard-Galen had been entirely burned down by rivers of flames sent out by Morgoth. It was also said that Dorthonion had been hit first by armies of Orcs and Balrogs, and that Glaurung had also been released.

And thus had begun the fourth of the great battles of the War of the Jewels, the Dagor Bragollach.

* * *

 **Angamaitë** is Angrod's espessë, it means "iron-handed".

Let's all enjoy some fluff, because starting from next chapter, characters will start dying :(


	18. Chapter 17

Well, here starts the not-so-fun part of the story. November is a rather gloomy month in itself, isn't it?

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

 **455 Y.S. Winter**

Artanáro's eyes were half-opened and he had claimed he was too weary to walk, and so his mother held him. He was still so frail, so light that Men would have thought him to be barely two, even though he had just celebrated his fifth birthday. The night before he had refused to go to bed as long as his father had not come to bid him good night and Fingon had showed up well after midnight, only to leave right after Artanáro had fallen asleep. He had not said much, but had told Gilmiel to look for him at dawn, and to bring along their son. For two days now, he had been mustering troops - some had already been dispatched to Barad Eithel - and he was about to depart with most of these forces.

Since a blazing fire had reddened the northern sky, Fingon had set his quarters in a small tower, near the east gate of the settlements, and he had spent most of his time there, reading reports, sending requests, and organizing his host. He had not taken any rest, nor did he need it, for truth was that he itched with a desire for battle he had not felt in a very long time, and he knew fury would overwhelm him once he would be on the field, facing the enemy. However, for a while he was not so fierce, and he reckoned his spotless armour, his dark blue cloak, and the long sword girded at his side would not necessarily give his son the right impression. Fingon hoped to look mighty enough that Artanáro would not doubt his father would be victorious, yet it seemed a vain effort when he had learned that the Ard-Galen was already in ruins, and that his cousins Angrod and Aegnor, and the majority of their people, had died in Dorthonion. This time, the threat was greater than it had ever been, and even little Artanáro would sense the impending danger.

He was shaken out of these gloomy thoughts by the sound of his office door who flew opened, letting in his wife and son. While Gilmiel looked rather calm and resolved, the child on the other hand was obviously unwell, his usually pink cheeks were pale, and he displayed no particular sign of happiness upon seeing his father.

\- It is too early for you, isn't it? whispered Fingon, bending over to put a kiss on Artanáro's silky hair.

Little Artanáro remained silent, as if he were sulky, but Fingon knew he was scared, and it pained him deeply. He took him in his arms, holding him high so their faces touched, and Artanáro pressed himself against his father, his eyes closed. Gilmiel, standing still beside them, dared not disturb this sweet moment, but she could not help but let a few tears rolled down her face, although she had sworn to herself she would do her best not to weep before she'd be completely alone.

\- Little fire, you do understand that I will be away during months? It is the duty of a prince to fight for his people and, sadly, our enemies are strong, and so the battle might last longer than we wish for, said Fingon, in a soft voice. But I shall return, for I know you will be waiting for me, and I would never deceive you, my son.

Artanáro raised his head slowly and, putting his small hands on his father's cheeks, he stared at Fingon. His eyes were gleaming like stars and in that moment there was a solemnity in them that made the child seem older than he really was.

\- I trust you, Father, he said.

A furtive smile appeared on Fingon's lips.

\- You are brave beyond your years, little fire.

\- I too am a prince of the Noldor.

Fingon's mouth twitched a bit, he found it harder and harder to conceal the distress that having to leave his son caused him and, seeing his wife wiping her tears with one of her many embroidered handkerchiefs, he cursed yet again Morgoth for all his dark deeds. A strange turmoil shook his insides, it was a highly unpleasant mixture of wrath and of sorrow.

\- I think your mother is in need of some comfort, said Fingon to his son as he grabbed Gilmiel's hand and pulled her gently toward him.

\- I am fine, she muttered.

If Gilmiel did quickly recover her composure, she was nonetheless glad to be able to wrap her arms around him once more, even though his armour cooled down their embrace.

\- Of course you are fine, my love, he said, putting a kiss on a forehead.

\- I have a duty of my own to fulfill, I shan't be so restless in your absence, said Gilmiel, tracing her husband's jawline with the tip of her fingers.

She gazed at him fondly, his handsomeness was as dear to her then than it had been been centuries before, and one of her dearest pleasures was to detail his face, the high cheekbones, the straight nose, these sparkling grey eyes filled with nobleness.

\- Glíves, I love you, he simply said, and he leaned over to kiss her, with utter tenderness.

Usually when they kissed in front of Artanáro, their son would cover his eyes and complain that it was disgusting, although it was more a game for him than a real repulsion. But this time, the child said nothing, for he felt quite content to be squeezed between his parents and he loved it much when their smells mingled, the sweet fragrance of his mother, and the fresh scent of his father. He was perhaps a bit too young to realize how much it was important to him, yet later on he would sometimes try to bring back the memory of them, his face buried in pillowcases Gilmiel had sewn, or in a tunic he had inherited from Fingon.

\- And I love you too, Artanáro, added Fingon, pressing his son firmly against him.

For one precious moment, the three of them stood still in this intricate embrace, but soon they broke apart, for none of them, not even little Artanáro, wished to linger long in the office. Partings were painful for everyone, and time ran short for the warriors who had to reach Barad Eithel as fast as possible. Fingon put his son back in Gilmiel's arms and as he was ready to go outside, he stopped to kiss them both one last time, feeling his heart sinking in his chest. And before he opened the door, and before she lost him to the war, Gilmiel checked carefully his armour - truth was, she knew not so well how it was supposed to be assembled - and she also made sure his braids were neat and that the entwined golden threads were well in place. It was but a few useless gestures, for sure, yet it was only once she was done that Fingon stepped out.

It was cold. The north wind blew harshly, but Fingon could not care for it, and he walked his wife and son to the walls, on top of which they would have a good view of the host. Then he headed down, where his captains were waiting for him, and he mounted his white stallion, after having put his helmet on. He had turned into a warlord, looking splendidly impressive, and wholeheartedly did his army followed him, for those on the side of Fingon the valiant ever had an unwavering bravour in the midst of the fiercest fights. From the horses' nostrils steam rose, pale shields glimmered under the winter's Sun and off they were, towards the shadows of the mountains, behind which a bloody battle was raging. Gilmiel's gaze was set on her husband's banner, and she wondered if she had prayed hard enough when she had woven it.

* * *

Gilmiel and Artanáro had stayed on the walls, overlooking the marching army, and both had wished to remain alone. The child was sobbing, in silence. He was proud of his father, and he was convinced Fingon was the mightiest of all the Elven warriors - even better than Fingolfin or Maedhros -, but he had also heard of all sorts of dark enemies, treacherous creatures that had no honor, and that had grown powerful during the Siege. And he was scared of the red flames he had seen in the sky. Very scared.

\- It is quite alright, little star, said Gilmiel, nuzzling her son's hair, it is quite alright to cry in times like these.

\- When Father comes back, do not tell him about it, please.

\- I won't, if you do not tell him I wept too.

She'd have rather not shown her tears to her son, but she felt too gloomy to pretend everything would turn out for the better. Perhaps, if Artanáro had not been born yet, she would have witnessed Fingon's departure while looking perfectly collected, as she had been able to do before. However, the little one's grief was unbearable to her.

\- We may cry today, but tomorrow we will go about our businesses, like we always do, right? I shall sew, for I have not finished your new jacket, and you, you shall do whatever is in your power to skip nap time and to drive mad the maids, will you not, my son?

\- I will do my best, Mother, said Artanáro, sniffing.

\- Oh, I don't doubt it.

Amidst her tears, she chuckled a bit. At least, mother and son found great comfort in one another.

* * *

Winter lasted long that year, it was as if the fires in the hearths were not hot enough to warm the air. And as time passed, it became clear the ongoing battle was a disaster, one like the Noldor never had had to face before, for the Enemy's strike had been so strong and so swift, it had swiped everything on its way, and had caught off guard most of the Elven and Edain forces. Lord Carmon, Gilmiel's father, had tried to convince her it would be safer for her and Artanáro to leave for the Falas, but she would not hear him as long as Morgoth's forces had not crossed the Ered Wethrin. Thus, on the shores of lake Mithrim, the mood was somber, for some had fled already, and those who remained were anxious for news from the field where the losses were heavy.

However, Gilmiel had soon regained most of her usual steady temper and she perhaps ran her house with a sudden zeal, expecting everything to be in order and keeping everyone about her busy. She deemed herself lucky to have her father by her side, as lord Carmon's fortitude was enduring, and if he was not himself a soldier, he lacked no courage. He was also good with Artanáro and he loved to take his grandson with him to his workshop to teach him about buildings with wooden square blocks he had crafted himself. Most of the towers lord Carmon and Artanáro erected together ended up being destroyed by some dark army, yet these games made the child laugh, and it distracted him from his worries about Fingon and Fingolfin.

And in the evening, when the family gathered in a parlor where Gilmiel used her loom, little Artanáro would ask for stories, and it came as no surprise that his favourite topic was his own father.

\- Tell me about the Dragon, Mother, please, said Artanáro one day, as he had settled on his grandfather's lap and was watching his mother weave.

Fingon's sortie against Glaurung was the episode the child deemed to be by far the most fascinating.

\- What do you wish to know, little star?

\- It was set loose in the Ard-Galen, was it not?

\- It was, and the Great Worm was a horrible sight to all that came its way, for even though they say it was still young back then, it was one of the most wicked creatures our folk had ever laid their eyes on, told Gilmiel, as she went on with the loom. And thus Elves fled before it, fearing the unexpected power of its fire.

\- Have you seen it, Mother?

\- I did, yes.

\- How was it?

\- Much bigger than anything you could imagine, sweetling. Its scales were golden, its claws deep black, and its eyes... most terrifying. Oh, it had a vicious glare.

Artanáro liked it much when she insisted the Dragon had been dreadful - and she needed not make up anything, it truly was an awful monster.

\- But Father was not afraid, was he not?

\- No, he was not, nor was your father's father.

It always pleased the child to hear this, and he smiled broadly.

\- Then what happened?

\- Your father summoned his best warriors, those who ride fiercely like he does, and who are skilled with their bows, as he meant not to wait behind guarded walls for the Dragon to go back to its Iron Fortress, but he had rather devised to strike it fast and well. With his men, he chased the Great Worm on the plain, and forced it to retreat back from where it came from, in the shadows of the North.

\- Then Father defeated the Dragon?

\- We could say so, indeed. For a while, at least.

\- Was the battle a long one?

Gilmiel paused her work, trying to recollect her memories of that particular event.

\- It lasted barely a few days.

It was Amathor who had spoken, for he had come by the parlor's door, and had heard the little prince's questions, guessing easily what he was wondering about.

\- Did you also ride at night, lord Amathor?

\- We did, under the moonlight. Seeking the Dragon was a tedious work in itself, and some of us might have not been so eager to find it, yet always did your father hearten us so our bravour would not fail. He showed no fear, felt none as a matter of fact, and valiantly he went forth, leading us in what turned out to be one of our great victories.

His speech was full of ardour, and it was obvious he missed being on the battlefield. As one of Fingon's best captain, he should have gone to Barad Eithel, but another task had been bestowed to him, one he could have not refused, although it had been an unexpected request. Amathor was to stay with Gilmiel and Artanáro and to protect them if the battle was to spread deeper in Hithlum. It had honored him deeply that his lord would trust him with his loved ones, yet he also had a keen desire to fight, and dreaded that something ill would befall the King or the Prince while he would be safe, by lake Mithrim.

\- Sit with us for a while, if you will, Amathor, said Gilmiel, gesturing towards a seat near the fireplace. I am sure Artanáro would be delighted to hear more about his father's deeds.

\- I reckon he knows more on the matter than I do, my Lady.

\- I'm afraid it is so, she said, eyeing her son.

This one was obviously the rightful heir of Finwë's line, and even if he displayed interest for different fields, nothing lighted up his eyes like a good swashbuckler tale.

\- Tell me more about the Dragon, please, said Artanáro to Amathor.

The latter readily complied - according to him, an order from the child weighed as much as one from the father or the mother - and he talked over and over of Glaurung, till Artanáro had fallen asleep on his grandfather.

\- I know it is not what you wished for, Amathor, yet you play very well your part, said Gilmiel, pleased that it had not been too difficult to put to sleep her son.

\- I would not dare being disappointed, my Lady.

\- You would have every right to be, for it seems you have been deprived from the possibility of accomplishing glorious deeds, she insisted. My husband told me of your valour, and I count myself fortunate to have such a faithful captain to watch over Artanáro.

Amathor was confused, as his loyalty was something he took no pride in.

\- I do what I am told to do, my Lady, he said, awkwardly. Although I never suspected I had any talent at telling bedtime stories.

Gilmiel and lord Carmon both suppressed a smile. Even in these dark days, they found Amathor's stiff manners quite funny and, sometimes, thanks to the captain, they managed to chase for a few moments their anguish. Poor Amathor was indeed playing well his part.

* * *

Spring had come at last, yet even the blooming flowers could not soothe the aching hearts of those who painfully waited for the battle to come to an end. The battle of the Sudden Flame they now called it, and already they were many to have lost loved ones on what used to be a rich land and what had became a vast waste covered with black ashes. So far the mountain fortresses on the Ered Wethrin had held, but at a terrible cost, and tidings from Dorthonion and from East Beleriand were grievous ones. The new year had barely began when two news of importance spread throughout the continent. One was rather a relief, for the battle might have been lost, but it had also reached its conclusion - Elves and Men could count on a short respite it seemed. The other report, however, gave rise to great despair, for the Noldor mourned the death of their High King, as Fingolfin had been killed in a single combat against Morgoth.

Though no songs were sung about it afterwards, it would be remembered that the High King, wroth to learn of the heavy casualties his people had suffered, had crossed the Ard-Galen - and those who saw him thought Oromë himself had come - and challenged the Dark Lord, in front of the gates of Angband, calling him a craven. Seven times he wounded Morgoth with his sword, Ringil, yet in the end, after having avoided the powerful strikes of Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, the Elven warlord was crushed down by the Enemy's mighty foot and there he had died. Before expiring, though, he had pierced one last time the Dark Lord with his blade, and ever after would Morgoth limp, and more than any of the Valar he would have known fear.

What this battle meant for the Noldor, and the other free folks of Beleriand, was still unsure, however its impacts on Fingon's life were immediate, and his dismay over losing his father was confronted to the new duties he had inherited, along with a title he would have rather not owned. It was in grief that he became High King and the crown felt heavy and cold on his brow, yet he was not one to neglect his responsibilities and much work was left ahead of him if he meant to preserve his father's realm. No celebrations were held for his coronation and in Barad Eithel all efforts were put to the burials of those who had passed away and to the strengthening of the walls, for none doubted that the forces of Angband would soon roam around the North.

There was one, however, who understood well Fingon's sorrow. Galdor's father, Hador Lórindol, the chieftain of the men of Dor-lómin, had fallen near the spring of Sirion, and Galdor found himself facing the same issues as his liege did, for he too took power while mourning. He had begged leave to travel to his homeland, in order to bury his father there, promising to be back as soon as the funerals would be over, and Fingon could not deny him this request. In fact, he thought he himself needed to meet with his family, but he felt torn. Should he summon them in the stronghold, which no longer was a safe place, or ought he ride to the shores of lake Mithrim? Could he really spare that time, now that he bore on his shoulders greater burdens than ever?

* * *

New Year was in Spring so technically Fingolfin died in 456. Whenever I think of Fingolfin and Morgoth's duel, that Blind Guardian song starts playing in my head (Loooord of all Noldoooooor~ ).


	19. Chapter 18

In the _Silmarillion_ it says Fingon sent his wife and son to the Falas right after the Dagor Bragollach, but I decided to let them spend some more time together, so 'right after' is more like 'after'. There was a lot of things I wanted to put in there, but it was a rather draining chapter to write, the story is sad enough in itself.

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

 **456 Y.S. end of Summer**

When Summer waned, Fingon resolved to call for his wife and his son to come in Barad Eithel, for he needed to see them and there was something he had to tell them, something he would only disclose to them face to face. He had considered going to lake Mithrim himself, but he dared not leave this side of the Ered Wethrin, as now the Siege had been broken, and the Elves and Men had been defeated, it seemed they could only expect the Enemy to strike once again. Fingon knew well his father would not have left his tower in such times and that he had now became one with the privilege of summoning others. And so he waited for them, keeping an eye on the road that went down the mountains, and he grew restless.

They arrived at dusk, which was a good thing, for it spared them awhile the grim sight of the Anfauglith - something Fingon wished he could have completely hidden from Artanáro. In any event, the child, weary from the ride, had fallen asleep on the way so that Artanáro was not even conscious they had reached their destination. Amathor, lord Carmon and Gilmiel had took it turn to hold him, but in the end the mother had kept her son to herself, as she wanted to be sure she'd be the one bringing him to his father. At the beginning, the welcome was formal, for the most part, but Amathor and his men soon were dispatched to their new positions, while lord Carmon, after having cordially greeted Fingon, announced he would be off to his old workshop, where he knew there was much do. And so the little family was reunited at last, although it seemed it would not be for long.

\- He has been asking for you ever since we left, Gilmiel told Fingon, in a whisper.

\- Has he? he said, and he was thoroughly moved to see Artanáro, after the terrible months he had gone through.

\- I don't think any horse could have ridden fast enough for him, for he was so eager to see you, replied Gilmiel whose eyes were sparkling with a fondness only the sight of her husband or of her son could trigger. And so we took no break, but he is too young for long travels like these...

Fingon took the little bundle that was his son in his arms, inhaling the child's soft scent. Artanáro stirred a bit in his sleep and he raised his head, slightly opening his eyes. When he recognized his father, a smile spread on his face and he huddled himself against Fingon's chest as he fell back into a deep slumber.

\- He is so small... muttered Fingon.

He adjusted his cloak around Artanáro, for he thought the nights were fresh already.

\- And you, my love, have you been well? he asked, staring at Gilmiel who was quietly standing by his side.

He was not used to see her, the ever-sewing lady, in plain travel clothes and, moreover, her golden hair was tied up in a simple fashioned bun - a sign she had probably rushed to leave lake Mithrim's shores.

\- Yes, you need not worry, she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. I, on the other hand, do wonder how the High King of the Noldor has fared so far.

The look on his face hardened.

\- Shall we go put the little one to bed first? he breathed.

\- Of course, said Gilmiel, gently rubbing his back.

Moments later, Artanáro was fast asleep in his parent's bed, arms and legs spread out as usual, and only the sound of his steady breath could be heard. Not far from him, on a pillow, lied the King's crown, as well as two circlets that had not been worn yet. Outside, the moon was full and its cold shine spread on the stone the balcony was made of, providing little comfort to those who sought some. Gilmiel and Fingon, who said no words, had sat on a bench and his head rested on his wife's shoulder. Although he did his best to stifle his sobs, he wept hard and Gilmiel felt his tears rolled down on her neck while she stroked his hair and put little kisses on his forehead, his temple, his jawline. The High King of the Noldor had yet to mourn properly the death of his father, since he had been mostly concerned with the succession and reorganization of his troops, and he had barely been able to have some time to let out his grief.

However, Fingon was far from being the only who was lamenting the death of Fingolfin. On the days that followed his arrival in Barad Eithel, Artanáro would sometimes run to his grandfather's parlor, only to find it empty, and he would weep there until one of his parents caught hold of him. Gilmiel also felt sorrowful, for she had loved King Fingolfin as if they had truly been blood-related, and her father, lord Carmon, was grim - he had always been very devoted to Finwë's house, and then to Fingolfin's, and it was the second liege he had lost to the accursed Dark Lord. Yet they seldom talked about it, nor did other Elves in general, and they all had understood it was not just their King who had passed away - the Long Peace had too.

Weeks became months, and soon a years passed, and then two, and three.

Fingon knew well it was not wise to keep his wife and son so close to the threat of Angband, however he felt he was no ready to let them go, for it seemed once they'd leave, the darkest era of his life would start.

And so he avoided taking a decision, and for five years things were as fine as could be.

* * *

 **461 Y.S. Fall**

The vase had shattered into hundreds of shiny shards, scattered all over the wooden floor, and Fingon's clenched fist leaned on the small circular table. In his anger, he had almost knocked it down, but only the vase had dropped and the clatter of its fall had not brought him any appeasement. He was breathing heavily, facing a window from which he could stare at the Anfauglith, an endless grey desert and a painful reminder of the battle that had taken place five years ago. His hand hurt a bit, perhaps he had earned himself a few cuts, but he cared not about it. He was doing his best to recollect his thoughts, for he was in the midst of a heated discussion.

She was silent and Fingon reckoned she had been shocked when he had hit the table, although he had never meant to scare her. Infuriated as he may have been, his wrath was yet entirely turned against Morgoth, his sole enemy, and he started to feel ashamed his wife had to witness such a ridiculous fit of temper from his part. His breath had almost gone back to normal and he spun around, contrite.

\- Gilmiel, I did not...

She was crying, and not just a little bit. Truth was, he could not remember having ever seen her being so afflicted, as she was covering her face with her hands, slowly bending down - it seemed her legs could not support her anymore.

\- I would never lay a hand on you, Gilmiel! he blurted. I was not angry with you, my love, and that vase was just at wrong place, at the wrong moment!

Fingon seized her hurriedly before she completely collapsed and, rather alarmed, he held her against him.

\- I beg your pardon, he went on, I would not have...

\- Don't, dearest, she whispered through her sobs. My tears have nothing to do with that...

\- What it is then...? he asked softly.

\- I will leave. I will take our son and I will leave for the Falas, she said, in a firm voice.

Gilmiel had closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest. She had just pronounced the words he had wished to hear and that meant he had won their argument, yet it brought him no joy. For months she had pleaded with him to let them stay longer in Barad Eithel and she could be quite stubborn when she wanted to - not to mention Fingon had also considered any other possible option before admitting the safest place for his wife and son was south, so far from him.

\- All right, he said, putting his hands on her head, stroking her golden hair in a desesperate attempt to soothe her pain.

\- Please forgive me, I should have given in earlier... I had no sensible reasons not to.

Her shoulders had stopped shaking, but she kept her face down.

\- Glíves, you do understand I only care for your well being and for our son's, do you not? It is but with a heavy heart that I will send you both to the Falas.

His fingers were entwined in her smooth locks and he was staring at her intently, fearing another break down from her part.

\- Of course I do, said Gilmiel who, rubbing her eyes one last time, had managed to stop weeping.

Fingon feared not for himself, and ever had he dedicated most of his efforts to ensure the safety of his family - to him, it was a relief to know they soon would be away from the threat. However it had not crossed his mind this decision could cause Gilmiel such torment and all along he had failed to consider her feelings, for he had relied too much on her steadfast nature. After all, had she not been an unswerving companion throughout the centuries? Had she not always been there, waiting upon his return, when he had gone forth to battle? But she was not one of his captains, she was his wife, the mother of their son, and _she_ was scared for him - that, Fingon had not quite grasped it yet.

\- You have traveled often to the Falas and your father has been dwelling there ever since we were betrothed, he told her, raising her chin gently. And Artanáro could benefit greatly from lord Círdan's lore, he will learn of the sea, of the ships and of other wonders.

\- There is no need to try persuading me, I will oppose your will no more.

\- You now agree with me, Gilmiel, yet you deem it not to be the right decision, isn't it? he asked, for he thought she sounded awfully dejected.

\- Oh Fingon, my love, I should be a fool to believe Hithlum is a safe place, and I should be a worthless mother not to want to spare my son a cruel fate, yet will you not understand that it is out of love for you that I find myself overwhelmed by such distress? Will you not allow me to be worried about you, above all else? For Artanáro and I shall be under the safeguard of lord Círdan and leagues will stand between us and our foes, but for you every morning the Sun will rise on the Anfauglith, and every time you shall be reminded of those who fell there, of your father, of your cousins, and when the day comes for battle again, tell me who will protect the High King of the Noldor from the dark armies of Angband?

Her speech hit him harder than any blow he had ever received from the enemy, and as he gaped at her, shimmering tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and a few heavy ones rolled down on his cheeks.

\- I shall fare well, he promised in a strained voice.

\- Please do so, valiant one, please do so.

From one of her pockets, Gilmiel pulled out a handkerchief, one she had embroidered many stars on, and she wiped his tears away with it, and her gestures was full of the love and the devotion she bore him.

\- Don't you still carry the one I gave you formerly, when we were so carefree, on Tol-Sirion?

He nodded and with a finger he traced a square shape on his jacket, right where his heart was.

\- You know you cannot lose it, she said and a timid smile curved her lips.

Fingon lacked words to express his sudden surge of emotions and so he simply leaned forward to kiss her, cupping her face.

\- I will tell Artanáro myself of our decision, he said, as their foreheads still touched.

\- Will you do it soon?

\- Yes... tomorrow, perhaps.

* * *

Artanáro was ten years old, and what were ten years in the span of an Elven life? Those of their kind were meant to last as long as Arda would and so decades passed by in the blink of an eye for them. Ten years, twenty years, thirty years, the numbers did not matter for they knew they would still be there - so the Sun, the Moon and the Stars. But when it came to children, even such a short period seemed crucial and Fingon wondered how Artanáro would be ten years from then. Would he still be small and would his father still be able to call 'little fire' before ruffling his hair? And how would he turn out to be at fifty, when he'd almost be completely grown up? Fingon would have liked to believe he would himself witness these different stages in son's life, but he was not so sure it would ever happen, especially in the wake of his own father's death.

His wife might have come to the same conclusions than he, for it was not unlikely she had guessed most of his mind - her tears had testified well enough for that -, yet Fingon loathed the idea that Artanáro could suspect this parting was likely be their last. He was resolved to be tactful with his son and so he strived to look as composed as he could when he stepped down in the courtyard, where Artanáro was training at archery, an activity he had started a few months ago. For a while, Fingon watched the child from behind, marveling at the fact that he and his son shared similarities even in the most trivial aspects of their self - when focusing Artanáro squinted his eyes just like he did.

\- Father, I had not seen you! exclaimed Artanáro, when Fingon finally greeted him. How long have you been here?

The child hastened towards him happily.

\- Long enough that I could note how much your aim has improved lately, little fire.

\- They say I hold the bow too low, though.

\- It might be that you grew fast and now your bow is too short for you, said Fingon, and it seemed only then he realized his son had gained a few inches over the last year. I shall ask for another one to be readied for you.

\- Really? Would that help?

\- You cannot be expected to perform well without the proper tools, can you?

\- No, I suppose not, said Artanáro, grinning.

Fingon smiled too and he took the child's hand in his - their seize difference was still quite striking.

\- I reckon we both have worked hard enough today and a walk in the gardens would do us some good, he stated. Perhaps we could go pick up some of these raspberries you find so delicious?

\- Oh yes! Is Mother coming along?

Artanáro's eyes kindled with expectation.

\- I'm afraid your mother is quite taken up by her embroidery and I do wonder if anything could disturb her when she gets so engrossed by her threads and needles, said Fingon and it was not exactly a lie, but not the truth either. Thus, it will only be me and you this evening, does that please you all the same?

It did, for Artanáro had had few opportunities to spend some time alone with his father since Fingon had become High King. Of course the child adored his mother, but he also loved dearly his father and, as he admired him above everyone else, he yearned ever for his approval. And he was very proud to walk hand in hand with his father while they crossed halls and yards in direction of the gardens. At their sight, guards, maids, lords and ladies would bow to Fingon, talks and whispers ceased upon his arrival, and these displays of respect would leave a deep impression on Artanáro - when it would be his turn to be a King, he'd never quite believe he himself could deserve such reverence.

\- Were you as small as I when you were my age, Father? asked Artanáro as they were nearing a wood in which berries grew profusely.

\- I was probably tinier, chuckled Fingon. And not half as handsome, I'd wager.

\- Then I should look like you when I will reach adulthood?

\- Why should you not, little fire? You are the blood of my blood, the flesh of my flesh, and I dare say there is a spark of my soul within you, said Fingon, facing the child and holding him by the shoulders.

\- I wish I can live up to your name, to my grandfather's, muttered Artanáro, suddenly solemn.

Kneeling down, Fingon stroked his son's dark hair and, twisting his silky locks between his fingers, it crossed his mind it was long enough to be braided properly.

\- You will, dearest, he said as he hugged Artanáro. Were you to become a king, I do not doubt you would be a great one.

\- I don't want to be king, said the child, shaking his head.

\- I pray you will be forever a prince, whispered Fingon tightening his grip around his son. And that I will always be able to protect you.

He felt Artanáro was starting to be tensed and Fingon feared the mood would get gloomy - he had yet to tell Artanáro about the decision to send him to the Falas, along with his mother.

\- Didn't I mention something about raspberries, earlier? he said, pecking him on the cheek. And am I correct to assume you would love to climb in these oaktrees?

Fingon's tone was as light as possible, and he thought he had all night to make his announcement, to reassure his son both of them would be all right, in the end. And so they ate a lot of berries and nuts, they ran around and played sword fighting with woodsticks and they did climb the highest oaktree, on top of which they settled to admire the starry sky. There, before Artanáro got too sleepy, Fingon told him everything, in a very soft voice, and he made sure to expose in details the reasons behind this choice, as well as repeating over and over that there was no need to worry about it all. It was just the matter of a couple of years, no more, and it would be easier for him to fight if he knew his family was far from danger.

Artanáro shed a few tears, that Fingon smoothly wiped away, but he had faith in his father and was convinced their parting would be brief, like it had been during the Dagor Bragollach. In fact, the child spent a very pleasant night and, for the time being, the happiness of having his father all for himself outshined the vague idea of a departure. On the days that followed, the preparations barely affected Artanáro and he grew curious of the havens of lord Círdan and of the Great Sea he had heard so many different descriptions of. The child was so wrapped up in the tales of this new land, he failed to notice his parents' strange behavior, especially his mother's, for Gilmiel struggled greatly not to show her sorrow. Some years later, when looking back at this period of his life, he would feel guilty about this naive casualness that had caused him to overlook the last moments he had shared with his father.

* * *

As Fingon watched them leave, Artanáro turned his head back a few times, a dubious expression on his face, while Gilmiel did not, and he reckoned his wife was probably trying to hide her tears. He had never felt so miserable in his whole life, not even during the crossing of the ice, or when he had found Maedhros hung up on the Thangorodrim, and he spent the night in his office, brooding. What kind of memory - real memories, not well-meaning words related by others, not dreamy images melodies sometimes carried - would his son keep of him? That was what bothered him most for he deemed he had not passed on much to Artanáro, and he prayed he would be given the chance to spend ages and ages with his child, after the war.

When the Sun rose on the Anfauglith, Fingon thought the Doom of the Noldor was indeed bitter. Yet he was not ready to give up, not just yet. There were many things left he wished to fight for.

* * *

Artanáro was delighted to discover the sea and he was already at ease on the boat, running around and asking questions to the crew members. He was not so worried for now, for he enjoyed the trip, and it would take a few more days before he would realize they had left Hithlum, for an undefined period of time. Gilmiel was not so well herself though, but at least her eyes were dry and her father stood by her side, his arm linked to hers.

\- If I were to be selfish, I'd say I am afraid of life without him. We parted before, we did, however we always knew it was not for long and now... there is no telling when we will be reunited. Yet, I cannot afford the luxury of dwelling on my own fears...

She paused, gazing at her son.

\- What if these ten years were the only years Artanáro and Fingon would ever have together? What if... what if they were to never meet again?

* * *

Although it's not explicitly said, I guess Gil-Galad and Elrond were really good friends, and I guess it's started with a "Hey, we're blood-related and we have no parents left, le'ts become best friends!" and then Galadriel became their favorite auntie, because she was the only one still alive...


	20. Chapter 19

I felt that at that point there are a lot of characters who had to say lots of different things, and they all lived in different places, so that's why this chapter is made of letters. This was fun to write, even though it's tragic too.

 **Fadesintothewest:** yes, it is depressing, so I took my time haha. As I wrote the fic, I kinda forgot it would not end well..

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

 **461 Y.S.**

 **Letter from lord Círdan to High King Fingon**

My Lord,

I write to you as you bid me to.

Although the circumstances are far from being optimal, it is with great pleasure I have greeted your wife, lady Gilmiel, and your son, Artanáro. I have to admit that I was especially looking forward meeting your son, for I seldom have welcomed such young Elves under my roof and the sound of his small feet running around the rooms and the yards has been rejoicing my entire household. However, I am also well aware that it means you have been deprived from your greatest joy as a father and this sincerely saddens me. I shall never forget the trust you have honored me with and the sacrifice you have consented to when sending your family in the Falas. Thus rest assured I will care for them as I would with my own kin.

As for the chest you entrusted me with, there was no safer place to keep it in than in one of my ships, for a few of them are always ready to sail, were we to be in need of fleeing fast. I did tell your wife about it, though it shall remain a secret for your son until he comes of age - that is, if you have not been reunited with your family by then.

Rest assured I am pleased I can be of any help to you, my Lord.

 **Letter from Gilmiel to Fingon (1)**

Fingon, my love,

If I do worry about the unstable situation in the North, however I am afraid I am even more concerned with the trivial details of your daily life. You deal well with war matters, but do you eat properly? I imagine your armour, your shield and your helmet are neatly polished, yet what of your shirts, your cloaks and jackets? It is silly of me to bother about such futile things, so please forgive your wife who does not fight with a sword, but with a needle.

Living by the Great Sea is, in itself, very pleasant, for the wind always carries the fresh air of the ocean and I do not tire of hearing the sound of lapping waves. Also, I shall not miss the rain that so often falls on Hithlum, have we not so often gotten soaked to the bone on our strolls? Yet if I keep writing about weather you will wonder if South has made me idle as, in fact, I have taken a great liking to the craft of sail making and have been spending much time one the docks, a place I was not so familiar with. It should not come as a great surprise that a thick fabric is preferred - anything too delicate would no last long, of course - thus instead of embroidery sailors tend to paint sailcloth and there are some remarkable artists among the Falari. I had a few attempts at drawing before, but never committed to it seriously, and I now find that it is a most pleasant hobby. Were my skills to improve, I might even consider sending you a portrait of Artanáro along with my next letter.

Our dear Artanáro... he loves the sea, it was to be expected, and lord Círdan is quite fond of him already. However he sometimes has nightmares, I hear him say your name or your father's... You would know as much as I how the death of your father has affected him, for he cherished much King Fingolfin. And now he fears a similar fate might await you, although he won't utter a word about it - to me at least, as it seems he wishes to spare me unnecessary worries. We all do our best to keep him busy, but you will be happy to learn that he likes to gather pretty little things - seashells, agates, and a feather of a large albatross we often see circling in the sky nearby our tower - in order to give them to you since you cannot enjoy the closeness of the Belegaer with us. There, along with the letter he wrote, you will find enclosed a pouch filled with items your son deemed worth your attention.

I dare not give you any recommendation, I simply hope for the best.

I love you. With all my heart and soul.

 **Letter from Artanáro to Fingon**

Father, do you miss me?

I miss you a lot and I cannot wait to see you again. Meanwhile, I try to learn as much as I can about the ocean and the ships so I can tell you about it. I do not know yet what I like more, the sea or the mountains, but maybe we could travel from one place to another when we will be together once more? I think I would not mind dwelling anywhere, as long I am with you and Mother.

I often hear Mother sigh, however I do not think she ever cries. Or if she does, she hides it well from me and Grandfather. She seems to have adjusted well to life here and she has met friends she had not seen in a long time. And she goes to the harbor to help the mariners mending their sails. Sometimes I go along, or I stay at the workshop with Grandfather, or I talk with lord Círdan. He knows many stories I had not heard of and he has beautiful hair, it is long and silvery. Strangely enough, he looks a bit old (but do not tell him I wrote this please).

Father, I send you this letter, but also I send you gifts. I chose the best pieces of my collection, so you would get a taste of our life by the sea.

I love you, Father. I love you a lot and I always think about you.

Father, be safe.

 **Letter from Fingon to Gilmiel**

Gilmiel, my beloved,

I fear there is nothing happening around here worth being mentioned in a letter, it seems my daily tasks lack the creativity of yours. Since you left my side, never has the rain seemed so dull in Hithlum. Whenever I feel myself wavering, I do find true solace recalling the golden glints of your hair, the sparkles in your eyes, yet it is a great relief to know the Great Sea is your new neighbour... instead of the Anfauglith. However hard it may be on us and on Artanáro for the time being, I firmly believe we took the right decision.

My love, you are quite right to assume my armour and my weapons are well taken care of - and so are my wardrobe and my stomach -, but waste no energy worrying about me, for I beg of you to save it all for our son. The sweet memories I share with you are quite enough for me to keep on with my duties and I would not want you to fret uselessly.

Gilmiel, I know you. I know you feel as if you had forsaken me, as if you had acted cowardly by agreeing to move to the Falas, however I think otherwise. Was it not out of love and loyalty towards me that you complied to my will, despite your initial reluctance? Have you not always tried to do what was best for our son? I suspect that, had it not been for Artanáro, you would have rather endured any hardships here, in the North, than leaving my side. Its seems I ought thank our little one, for he is the reason your are safe in the Falas today.

I am glad you took a liking to the making of sailclothes, I imagine you cannot be so unhappy if your hands are busy. And do send me any portrait of Artanáro you would draw, for even if you are not satisfied with results, I shall be.

I love you Glíves, how I love you.

 **Letter from Fingon to Artanáro**

My son, dear son,

I am convinced I miss you even more than you miss me, but feelings cannot be measured as accurately as heights can be, right? Speaking of which, have you grown a lot recently, little fire? I know it is a matter of great worry for you, even though it is certain you shall stand tall, for we all do in the family - how many times have I told you this! You might be in a hurry now, yet enjoy these days, when your mother can still hold you in her arms. These are precious.

Does that sound too nostalgic, perhaps? I wouldn't want you to believe your father is brooding all day, up here in the North, while I actually have never been so busy. I do have great captains under my command, warriors who proved their valour more than once, yet I often find myself looking forward the day my son will ride next to me. Do we not both share that dream, little fire? And this means you need to behave well, to listen to lord Carmon, and to lord Círdan, and to train diligently, although I do not doubt you always do your best. And above all else, I am deeply sorry I cannot be the one who teaches and trains you, for now.

Artanáro, my little fire, I will be looking forward hearing about all that you are learning in the Falas. Your letters are treasures to me, as well as your gifts. I thank your for these, I can hear the sound of waves whenever I hold one your seashell close to my ear, and sometimes I hear your laughter too.

My son, rest assured your are present in my every thoughts. And do remember I love you dearly. And, Artanáro, take good care of your mother.

* * *

 **467 Y.S.**

 **Letter from Maedhros to Fingon**

Fingon,

There are some important matters I wish to discuss with you and so I sent the messengers on my fastest horses.

I grieve the death of Finrod, I really do, and it is terrifying to think none of Finarfin's sons walk among us anymore... However his loss was not vain for this Beren he died protecting fulfilled the quest he was on. One of my father's Silmaril has been taken off the crown of the Dark Lord himself and as I write this letter I still marvel at how unexpected these tidings are. Despite many mournings, I dare think we have reasons to be hopeful and as we are on the verge of driving away from Beleriand most Orcs, is it not time we prepare for attack, after having defended ourselves for over a decade?

Do not presume me hasty, Fingon, but I already conceived a plan and you are the first one I confide it to, save for Maglor. If we are to strike Angband, we ought to gather all the forces present in Beleriand, which means that for once we should put aside the feuds that too often divided our people - I am well aware your name would draw more enthusiasm than mine. I expect the Falas will join us, since lord Círdan has never failed to come to your aid, and we can also count on the substantial strength of Hador's House and of the Haladins. And would you be able to reach your brother, in his secret Gondolin? For my part, I can rely on the tribes of Men who came from the East, some swore allegance to Maglor and me, some to Caranthir, and of course all my brothers will follow my lead. Furthermore, the Naugrim of Belegost will surely march with us, lord Azaghâl has been aiding us already, and his warriors are steady ones, and they do not fear the fire of dragons.

As for the rest... I hardly could deny Curufin and Celegorm's behavior in Nargothrond has wronged us greatly, yet there might be a chance Orodreth would rally to us, would it not be fair to his father and to his uncles who fell fighting Morgoth? And then there is Doriath. The sons of Finarfin, alas, would be all designated to deal with King Thingol, but I shall try myself to find the right words to convince him we need to ally. Such request may have been deemed pointless before, although the King of Doriath would have had time to reflect on the deeds his daughter and her lover have accomplished and on the consequences his pride has had...

Valiant one, I value your opinion. Consider carefully what I think could be our greatest opportunity to overcome a power that has caused us too many sorrows already.

I will wait for your answer.

 **Letter from Gilmiel to Fingon (2)**

My beloved Fingon,

I have read your last letter with great interest.

For sure, if there were a single opportunity for us to defeat Angband with military strength, I do not doubt that the combined forces of Maedhros and of yours would stand a good chance at it. Words of the deeds of Luthien and Beren have indeed spread throughout Beleriand and what once used to be deemed impossible has been accomplished, for it is true one of the Silmarils has been taken back from our Enemy. It would be pretentious of me to give you any advice on war matters, but I trust Maedhros as much as you do.

There is one decision I took myself lately, although I doubt it will have affect the course of history, like yours might. I picked a name for Artanáro. It was about time I did, but I pondered long, for I foolishly hoped it could be an occasion for the three of us to be together - in the wake of what you wrote it does seem foolish indeed. I presume you may have guessed, partly at least, what this name can be, however I thought I would transcribe the exact words I told our son.

"Your father calls you his little fire, Artanáro, and he has thought ever since you were conceived you would be all flames. And I, I fancy you are my little star, as there is in your eyes a light I never tire to gaze upon for it brings me an everlasting joy. Hence the name I give you is a celestial one, Gil-Galad, and in many songs shall it be mentioned, and it will bring courage to your friends and fear to your foes, even in the darkest ages."

He loved the name, yet he was not so eager to use it at first. Our poor son fears you might be crossed with him if he were to be called Gil-Galad instead of Artanáro and would not want to appear as if he'd favor one of us over the other. I tried my best to explain to him you would never question the love he bears you though it seems lord Círdan was the one who, in the end, eased his worries. Truth is, I'm afraid he sometimes feels guilty to be spending much more time with me than with you, even though he cannot be blamed for this unpleasant situation.

Our son... He has grown to be handsome and both in spirit and body he is much alike you. Oh, a few details here and there do let out that I am his mother, his hands strikingly look like mine and his cheeks are rounder than yours although it might not last past boyhood. I now braid his hair in the same fashion you fancy yourself, although he does not want to use golden thread, he thinks silver suits him better - or, should I say, he only wants to come second to you. Poor thing, 'What would Father do?' is his favorite question. He tends to always consider what you would do or tell when facing new circumstances, for he yearns to make you proud.

Dearest, we truly have a wonderful son. A little miracle.

I love you, Fingon. I only have to close my eyes to see you, yet I yearn for your touch, for your voice. I shall be patient. It seems there might soon be an outcome to this awful war.

Please, do not be too reckless.

 **Important reminder from Fingon to Artanáro**

Whether you prefer to be a fire or a star, I shall always love you, my precious son.

* * *

 **470 Y.S.**

 **Letter from Maedhros to Gil-Galad**

Gil-Galad,

Although we have not met in years, I have not forgotten you are celebrating your twentieth birthday this winter. For our people, it may seem a short amount of time, but for young fellows like you it may feel as long as an entire age.

I imagine you have grown to be much akin to your father and one of my dearest wish would be to see in person, once again. Yet as I cannot foresee when such an encounter may take place, instead I make do with a letter - a letter, and a gift. If I fear my words might not be of much interest for you, I do hope however that you will appreciate these three horses I sent you and that I especially selected for the son of my cousin and dearest friend Fingon. Ride as oft as possible and one day, come visit me in the East, and we shall hunt together. Or, should I say, I will teach you how to hunt well, since I do not trust anyone else would be more qualified than I for such a delicate task - of course, this last part ought remain a secret between us.

Gil-Galad, grow tall and strong.

Tell your grandfather, lord Carmon, I hope he fares well, by the sea.

And please greet your mother on my behalf, for she too has long been a friend of mine.

* * *

 **472 Y.S.**

 **Letter from Fingon to Gilmiel and Gil-Galad**

Gilmiel, Gil-Galad, my most precious treasures, my loved ones,

Time is running and I can only spare some to write down a few words before war claims me once more. Never have we been this prepared for a fight, never has there be such consultation throughout Beleriand, therefore saying I feel confident about the battle's income does not seem to be an overstatement - yet I fear I could sound cocky when, in fact, I know very well Angband cannot be overthrown so easily.

I love you both, utterly, of that I am sure. I live for the day we will dwell together, in a bliss that shall know no end.

I love you, my sweet wife.

I love you, my valiant son.

 **Letter from Fingon to Maedhros**

Maedhros, dear friend,

The people of Hithlum stand ready, so does Húrin and the House of Hador, and Haldir and the Haladin, and those who came from the Falas. Help came also from Nargothrond, not as much as we wished for, nonetheless it is a valuable company Gwindor is leading, and from Doriath came even less numbers, for Beleg Cúthalion and Mablung of the Heavy Hand alone chose to stand by our side. The pair was not sent by King Thingol himself, as they both had to beg his leave, and if an addition of only two may seem almost irrelevant, I daresay each of them is worth a thousand, for such is their might.

I shall stand on the walls of Barad Eithel, waiting for your signal, and we shall meet again on the field.

* * *

Well I suppose now I can't avoid anymore what is, after all, unavoidable.

Writing this, I realized Fingon's wife could have been a Falari, that might have been more logical with what's in the _Silmarillion_. Someone from Círdan's household... oh well, I wanted her to be someone who had been born in Valinor and who had crossed the deadly ice.


	21. Chapter 20

I wanted it to be done by Christmas, but I was very busy at the store, and managed to be sick on that single day off I had! Also I wanted to do this one well, it's a pretty crucial moment, but I'm still not sure about how it turned out.

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

 **472 Y.S.**

He had thought they had been well prepared, and perhaps they really had. He had even believed they could manage to win without help from Doriath and from Nargothrond - except for a small host that had forsaken Orodreth's will, as well as Beleg and Mablung, the two realms had sent no forces. But doubt assailed him when he saw fire and dark smoke poured from the Iron Mountains. Spread on the Ered Wethrin's side, his army was hidden from the Enemy's view, yet the powers of Angband were aware of their presence and Fingon expected no good from that.

He felt tense as he peered towards the East, for there was no sign from Maedhros for now and this was also an extremely worrisome matter. Fingon paced around for a while and, at some point, as he glanced once more at the Anfauglith, he reached for the handkerchief that he still carried, neatly folded beneath his armor. He pressed it against his mouth, closing his eyes for a brief second. The fabric was soft and it held Gilmiel's sweet scent, and Fingon would have sworn his son's smell had slipped through it as well. It was but a small comfort, however he welcomed it gladly.

And then he heard it. The cries of Elves and Men at first, and the trumpets, the trumpets of his brother's host who was marching their way - for, unbeknown to all, Turgon had mustered his own troops and left the secrecy of Gondolin to join the Union. Casting away any sense of foreboding, Fingon felt his spirits suddenly being lifted and he let out a shout in a powerful voice that echoed throughout the vale.

 _'Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!_

And those who heard it answered in a great chorus.

 _'Auta i lómë!_

Hope was renewed in Fingon's heart, and indeed he thought his brother's unexpected arrival was a sure sign their stance against Morgoth was a strong one, no doubt the beacons of Dorthonion would be set in fire any time, announcing Maedhros' coming. And even when heralds from Angband rode down from the North, bringing prisoners along with them, Fingon was confident their wicked provocations would remain fruitless, however horrifying this method could be. Alas, what none could have predicted – although it seemed their enemies were well aware of their actions – was that Gelmir, Gwindor's brother, was mutilated and executed right in front of where Nargothrond's troops stood. In a second, off they were, dashing out of the woods, yelling and brandishing their swords, and Fingon was left with no choice but to order the assault, and so began the fifth battle of the War of the Jewels.

It started well, or at least better than Fingon had reckoned, for the fight had begun before the host of Maedhros had joined the western armies and thus their original plan had been ruined by Morgoth's treachery. However the Elves and Men's fury was such that they wiped entirely the troops Morgoth had sent towards Hithlum and soon those of Nargothrond reached the Iron Fortress itself. Before the walls of the Thangorodrim, things did not turn out so well and Fingon's army was surrounded and forced to retreat, till Turgon's host came to their rescue, breaking through to the ranks of Angband's forces. The sons of Fingolfin were reunited for a while, and it should have been a hopeful event, however Maedhros never made it to them, as upon his arrival on the Anfauglith, Glaurung came out of the north, and the eastern troops were utterly defeated, leaving Fingon and Turgon surrounded and outnumbered.

And there he came, a colossal figure. Gothmog, lord of Balrogs, was a shadowy fire that pushed aside Elves and Men with devastating swings of its axe and soon he had dug a path between the troops of Hithlum and those of Gondolin. Fingon knew at once Gothmog's ultimate target was none but himself, yet even the horrible sight of the High-Captain of Angband could not frighten him, he whose father had proudly challenged the Dark Lord himself in a single combat. He saw his guards fall, one by one, as the Balrog crushed them ruthlessly until he stood alone and the High Elven King heaved his sword high, engaging in what was the fiercest fight of his life. Against such a mighty foe and isolated as he was, the odds were perhaps not in his favor, but Fingon was swift and strong and sparkles sprang each time their weapons clashed. And it was not before another Balrog crept from behind, binding him with its fiery whip, that this battle seemed lost.

Fingon was locked and a burning sensation stung his flesh, through his armour. He still stared defiantly at the huge dark shape that faced him, he would surely not waver in front of one of Morgoth's minion, no matter how powerful this creature was. The Lord of Balrogs raised its axe slowly, relishing its impending victory, for no help would come - the Elven King was lost. Seconds later, Fingon's white helm was split in half, in a terrible flash, and thick warm blood dripped on his face, blurring his vision. He took another blow, collapsed on the ground.

Fear he felt none ; yet bitterness filled him upon the thought of his wife and of his son, whom he would never see grow into adulthood - and by far it was the greatest grief. When his eyes shut for good and when his spirit was called to the Halls of Mandos, many faces passed through his mind. There were his grandfather, his mother, Maedhros, his brother, his sister, Gilmiel, Gil-Galad and the very last one was his father, as majestic as ever. Fingon, son of Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, passed away on the battlefield, whispering "Father, I shall meet you soon".

* * *

Lord Círdan had seen the terrible storm that had risen westward and dark heavy clouds that had gathered in the sky, bringing an early shadow to the evening. When wind had blown against his walls and heavy rain poured, he had understood the battle was lost and a terrible anguish overwhelmed him, for he foresaw the shadows of the North would soon come down. He wondered sadly if he would meet again any of the sailors and warrior he had sent to their doom, on the Anfauglith. And he thought of young Gil-Galad... The Lord of the Falas had come to love the child as a son and it would be heart-wrenching, indeed, if he were to bear him any ill-news concerning King Fingon. But as the night passed by, it seemed all was lost.

The shipwright's guesses proved right, unfortunately, since the battle had been a devastating disaster. The first tidings came barely a day or two after the storm had shaken up the harbors and it became obvious lord Círdan could not hope to spare Gil-Galad a cruel grief, for his father had fallen, struck by Gothmog's accursed axe. The child and his mother were not fool, however, for they too had understood why the western winds had been raging and words from the North were merely a confirmation of what they had dreaded since then. Nonetheless it was a shock for both of them, Gilmiel's father had to catch her in his arms, as she fainted, and Gil-Galad, stricken, had slowly let himself fall on his knees, covering his face with his hands. It was lord Círdan who picked him up and little could he do to soothe the child's sorrow but to hold him tight.

* * *

Gilmiel had been brought in her chambers and once she had regained consciousness, she had asked to be left alone, pleading lord Carmon, her father, to leave her side in order to stay by his grandson. She could mourn the High King with all the other Elves, and the father of her son with Gil-Galad, yet none but she could weep her lover and husband and to do that she sought desperately for some solitude. It simply was an urging feeling and Gilmiel would not let anyone witness this raw despair that crushed her - especially not her son. She also dismissed her maids, after they had helped her in a seat, for she could barely manage to walk on her own.

Her vision was blurred by tears as Gilmiel cried sorely. She moaned too. She sobbed, till all strength had left her. And there she remained by the opened window, pale and motionless. Her dresses were wet and wrinkly, her hair, messy, and she stared blankly at the sky that was still filled with grey clouds. Hours passed by, yet she did not care, for there was nothing to do, she thought, and sometimes she sniffed though her puffy eyes stayed dry.

And at dusk, she heard their lament, rising from the docks.

 _The day of wrath, that day_

 _Has dissolved the world in ashes_

 _Tearful was that day_

 _The Sun went down beyond the sea_

 _King of tremendous majesty_

 _Who freely saved those_

 _That had to be saved_

 _The Sun went down beyond the sea_

 _He sought not his own_

 _Neither power nor glory_

 _And death was his reward_

 _And death was his reward..._

The Falari's clear voices shook her softly from her numbness, but even then she could only muster enough energy to call out for her maids, in a rather weak voice - she knew they stood not far despite having asked for privacy. They rushed in hurriedly, bringing a shawl and a warm drink, as the sea wind had turned cold for the season, but Gilmiel could not bother about her own well-being and she inquired about her son.

\- He is with your father and lord Círdan, my Lady.

\- I should have stayed by his side... muttered Gilmiel, still gazing outside. I should be the one comforting him...

\- My Lady, you needed some time to deal with the shock yourself.

\- Tell me, and do be honest, said Gilmiel, how do I look?

The maids were startled and none of them dared answering.

\- Would I scare my own son? she added, lowering her eyes.

She felt ashamed, the whole day had passed without her being able to move.

\- It is true you seem utterly... aghast, my Lady, however no one would hold this against you, said the first one who went to fetch a basin of fresh water.

\- And you cannot expect too much from yourself, my Lady, said the second one who pulled out a handkerchief from her pockets. In times like these, your son would be glad to simply be with you, regardless of your state.

Gilmiel sighed deeply, but she let the maids wash her face with some water, resolved to get up and go find Gil-Galad. Her limbs felt heavy and stiff and the first few steps was an achievement in itself, nonetheless she refused to be assisted and slowly made her way to her son's room.

Rain fell heavily again, tapping against the windows, and sometimes gusts of winds shook the tower's framework. In his room, Gil-Galad sat on an armchair, his arms wrapped around his knees, and he had not uttered a word in hours. His grandfather, lord Carmon, stood next to him, completely helpless, for the child had not shed any tears yet as if the pain he felt was far beyond that - and that was exactly it. Lord Círdan was also present, though he too could not do much, and he had taken on to feed the fire whose pale flames wavered, battling with the bad weather. The mood was gloomy, very gloomy, and the three Elves looked like statues when Gilmiel opened the door, after having knocked.

They thought at first some maid was bringing in food and drinks and Gil-Galad did not even raise his eyes to look at the newcomer. It was only when lord Carmon let out an exclamation, upon seeing his daughter's worn out features, that the child seemed to be aware of his surroundings.

\- Mother! he cried. Mother!

He sprang from his armchair and ran to his mother, hugging her tightly. He was now too tall so she could not hold him in her arms anymore, but he was also strong enough that he could really embrace her and that brought Gilmiel much unexpected relief.

\- Mother, what shall we do now... Gil-Galad said in a muffled voice, pressing his face against the wrinkled dresses of Gilmiel.

\- We have one another, little star, she told him, putting kisses on his forehead. It ought be sufficient...

\- I cannot be a King yet... he muttered, faintly. I am not like father…

\- You are too young for now, said Gilmiel, stroking his smooth hair. Your uncle who dwells in Gondolin has taken the crown as it is… although one day… you shall be just like your father, tall and majestic…

\- How could I, without him by my side…

\- We will be strong, won't we ? For his sake... whispered Gilmiel, wiping away the tears her son shed abundantly.

It was a rather pitiful sight to see them both, for Gil-Galad was finally sobbing, quite hard, and he clung hopelessly on his mother, seeking a solace none could have given him, as nothing would bring him back his father. Eventually, lord Carmon embraced them and it seemed these three would not move for a while. Feeling he was witnessing some intimate scene, Lord Círdan averted his eyes from them and he was very grim himself, as he thought a heavy burden now weighed on his shoulders. He wanted to take care of the child, yet he also had to worry about the harbors - after all, if the northern kingdoms had fallen, what stood now between Angband and the Falas?

* * *

 **A few weeks later...**

Dawn was nearing and Gilmiel was staring at her unfinished work. It had been weeks since she had set aside her threads and needles and all she could do was to stare at it while her fingers remained motionless, however hard she willed them to move. She had also begged her maids to remove her loom from her rooms, for she could not bear its sight anymore, and she had wondered all night if she would be able to resume her craft anytime soon. After all, if she were to stop sewing, would it not be as if she admitted she had lost all sense of purpose? She mourned Fingon greatly, even though she had gotten better at concealing it, and she painfully was realizing he was forever gone, and with him parts of her had also disappeared. And she sometimes thought her son would never hear her laughter again, fearing she could only be a melancholic mother now that she was a widow.

\- My Lady, forgive me for disturbing you at such an hour, said a maid, interrupting Gilmiel's brooding. Lord Círdan said there was someone calling upon you.

\- Who is it?

\- I do not know, my Lady. I reckon it is someone who traveled from the North.

Gilmiel rose, bemused. Lately, she had met with many of the surviving Noldor and Sindar who had escaped from Hithlum and she wondered if it was one of her acquaintances who had finally made it to the Falas. For, of those she had known in Barad Eithel, she had yet to see any of them again.

\- Then we can not make them wait any longer, I presume, said Gilmiel, following the maid into the corridor.

They head down wide stairs and, going through empty rooms, they reached lord Círdan's parlor where they were welcomed soberly by the shipwright, who introduced Gilmiel to the newcomer. It was Amathor, one of Fingon's captains, yet he looked so sinister, so exhausted, and his attire was so shabby, she was convinced she would not have recognized him, had he not been presented to her beforehand. There were patches of mud on his boots, on his cloak, and his hands were dirty as well, and wounded. She also noticed his skin had greyish undertones and when she met his gaze she was petrified by the felled expression his eyes wore.

\- My Lady, I... I should not be here in front of you today... stammered the Elf, in hoarse voice. But since I somehow survived the battle... I thought this undeserved fate of mine should hold some usefulness, and so I brought to you and to your son something that could not be left on the field...

He nodded at a shapeless brown bundle he had put on a table, near the hearth.

\- It is your lord husband's banner, my Lady.

Gilmiel gaped and she immediately wanted to unroll the package, however lord Círdan caught her hand before she could even touch the rough fabric.

\- I warn you, lady Gilmiel, it might just be a banner, yet it is far from being a pleasant sight, he said, his tone full of sympathy. It seems your husband's arms were given a treatment as rough as he...

No one had told her in details how Fingon had fallen, mostly they had all said he had been killed by Gothmog, the lord of the Balrogs, and it had been enough of an explanation for her in the aftermath of the battle, when her grief had been unbearable. However, afterwards, she had slowly gleaned here and there the full tale of the death of the High King of the Noldor. How he had been challenged by Gothmog, how he had fought bravely, and how the Balrogs' slyness had sealed his doom. All that, Gil-Galad had learned it too, but for long years, he was never told how Morgoth's lieutenants had also mutilated his father's body - Gilmiel had kept that part a secret.

\- I would rather see it, she whispered and lord Círdan released her hand.

Gilmiel unwrapped the banner and her gestures were gentle, much like if she was unfolding a wounded bird's wing. Once it was spread on the table, she understood lord Círdan's warning had not been light, for the banner, that very one she had made centuries ago, when Fingon and her were still betrothed, had obviously soaked in his blood and what had once been silver had turned into a disgusting rusty shade while the blue had become black. She ran her fingers on the weaving, astonished not a single thread was out of place.

\- It failed its duty, she said, sighing. It was meant to protect him...

\- Against the lord of the Balrogs, there was but little hope, lord Círdan told her as he was also staring at the banner.

\- I suppose not...

Her face had hardened, but she would not weep, there were no tears left for her to shed. Instead, she spun around and stepped toward Amathor who looked on the verge of fainting.

\- As of now, I do not know how to thank you properly, Amathor, Gilmiel declared, solemn, although I can assure your deed will not go by unnoticed.

\- My Lady, I do not deserve your gratitude, he stuttered, wincing. After all, I only manage to save a piece of fabric, and not... not...

She raised a hand, none of them needed him to finish his sentence.

\- Then, I am glad you did survive this terrible battle.

He remained silent, gazing at the floor.

\- Amathor, you deserve to take some rest, Gilmiel went on. I am sure lord Círdan could provide you with new clothes, food and a warm bath.

He tried to pretend he was fine, however it was not long before Amathor himself had to admit he needed to lie down, for his legs barely could support him any longer. He should have slept too, but he was afraid of these vivid nightmares that haunted him. Shadows chased him, whenever he closed his eyes. And he'd see the dead corpses of his friends on the ashen ground of the Anfauglith.

* * *

And that was how Gilmiel and Gil-Galad came in possession of a little piece of Fingon, a token of his tragic death, and strangely enough, it brought them appeasement to have something to mourn over - especially to the child.

\- Mother... I thought... he said, some days after Amathor's unexpected arrival. Perhaps...

\- Perhaps?

\- Perhaps we could bury the banner, he whispered.

Gilmiel frowned slightly.

\- Since we cannot lay him to rest, I thought we could bury his banner, at least, explained Gil-Galad, eyeing his mother with concern. Would it not somewhat ease your pain if there were a place where we knew part of him would lie in peace? The thought of... of him... on the cold ground of the North...

He fell silent and his mouth twitched as he did his best no to cry.

\- If this is your wish, little star, we will do it, said Gilmiel, brushing his cheek with the tip of her fingers.

\- Could it be the two of us only?

\- Of course.

* * *

Next day, at dawn, they walked along the cliff, and there the wind was blowing in their hair and seagulls were circling in the sky, above their heads. Gil-Galad was carrying a spade, Gilmiel, the banner, and they exchanged no words till they found the right spot - a vast and green headland that offered a splendid view on the Great Sea. There they dug the earth, laid down the banner and after one last look at it, they build a small mound on which little silver flowers soon grew, all year round.

\- Mother, there is a song I would like to sing, finally said Gil-Galad, as he was patting the freshly moved ground. I thought of it on our way here...

\- Do sing, my son.

Gil-Galad straightened as he faced the ocean and in that moment he looked just like his father, with his long black hair and his sharp features. Gilmiel could have sworn he was growing faster, since the Nirnaeth Arnoediad had taken place. However, his voice was still soft and fresh, and it was also full of misery, when he sang to his late father.

 _While the tide rises_

 _And everyone has their reckonings,_

 _In the depth of my shadow I bring_

 _The dusts of you._

 _The wind will carry it_

 _Everything will wither, yet_

 _The wind will carry us_

* * *

The lament lyrics are a mix of _Dies Irae_ ( _Day of Wrath_ ), a Latin hymn, and Tolkien's own words on Fingon ("He sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward." it's such a neat sentence, but so cruel). Gil Galad's song is a translation of a Noir Désir song, a beautiful, but very depressing song ( _Le vent nous portera/The wind will carry us_ ).

And the first part of the chapter follows closely the _Silmarillion_ and, of course, the Quenya is a direct quote.


	22. Chapter 21

So this is the last 'regular' chapter. There will be an epilogue after this, and it will be the end.

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

 **473 Y.S. Falas**

Gilmiel and Gil-Galad often took long strolls on the beach during the afternoon and sometimes well into evening. They talked a lot, mostly Gilmiel would tell her son of ancient times, well before the Noldor exiled themselves in Beleriand, while Gil-Galad would ask many questions about his parents' childhood, about his grandparents and all of this family he was barely acquainted with. However, whatever the topic was, their discussions always ended up revolving around Fingon and the memory of him was so vivid within their hearts, it was as if he was still walking with them, on the white sand of the Falas. Their sorrow was deep and Gil-Galad thought he should have been more concerned with the fate of the Elves and Men, for so many tragedies had been caused by the disaster of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad - the future seemed gloomy for all the children of Ilúvatar, yet ever the loss of his father was the keenest grief.

Gil-Galad was worried about his mother too. Often he caught her staring towards the West and in her eyes was an obvious longing that made him feel uneasy. Even though both his parents had been raised in Valinor, Gil-Galad was a child of Beleriand and he had then spent more years with the Falathrim than with the Exiles - it was too early for him to understand how the Ban affected the Noldor well beyond the threat of Morgoth.

\- Mother, if we were to defeat our enemies, would you stay by my side afterwards? Were the kingdom of Father restored, would you travel back to Hithlum with me?

\- Why would I leave you, my son? said Gilmiel, taken aback by his inquiry.

\- Isn't your true home westward?

\- West is out of reach, she stated and she could not conceal a hint of bitterness in her voice.

\- What if you were allowed to sail there once more? he insisted.

\- What is it that you fear, dearest? wondered Gilmiel, for, if she did yearn more and more to see the Undying Lands again, it had never crossed her mind she would ever dwell away from her son.

Gil-Galad shook his head, his dark hair flowing in the sea breeze. Since his father had passed away, he had refused to have it braid anymore.

\- I do not know, Mother, he sighed, heavily. Perhaps it is the way you look at sunset. The way all Exiles look at it.

\- I cannot help it, it seems, she whispered, lowering her gaze.

They were silent for a while, both were watching the waves lapping on the shore.

\- Gil-Galad, my dear son, you are my most precious treasure, said Gilmiel, at last. And my true home lies wherever you are.

She took his hand in hers, gently rubbing the back of it with her thumb. Her son did not seem quite satisfied with her words, as his real concern was elsewhere.

\- That's what it is, Mother, I'm afraid I will lose you too, confessed Gil-Galad in a hoarse voice. I did believe Father would win this war... I thought it might take longer than we had hoped for, but that, in the end, the three of us would dwell together forever.

Gilmiel wiped away a tear that had rolled on her son's cheek and she bent forward to put a kiss on his forehead.

\- I too am scared for you, she said softly. Mourning has perhaps overshadowed our minds, yet here we are, safe and sound, and surrounded by many friends.

Gil-Galad embraced her and he buried his face in her soft dresses, stifling a sob.

\- Mother, when will it stop hurting? he cried.

Gilmiel had not answer to this and so she held him tight, rubbing his back.

* * *

At night, Gil-Galad loved to climb up the walls of the haven and there he gazed at the starry sky, dreaming of lands he had yet to explore and of deeds he had yet to accomplish. He also liked to imagine how it would feel like to finally reach adulthood, to be tall enough to swing swords as a warlord should, to be able to protect his mother himself. And he did his best to recall his father's face, in its smallest details, for he was afraid memories of Fingon would fade over time and that all he would be left with would be the recollections of others.

Every now and then lord Círdan would join him and, as the shipwright knew almost as much about stars than he did about the sea, it was a presence Gil-Galad welcomed with pleasure. That day was no exception and, passed midnight, lord Círdan showed up, wrapped in a long grey cloak.

\- Gil-Galad, your seem quite somber today, said the lord of the Falas, sitting on a stone bench. Is something amiss, son?

\- Lord Círdan... muttered the child, straightening. They say you have been the Lord of the Falas ever since your people marched westward to cross the Belegaer...

\- It is so, said the shipwright, raising an eyebrow. Our folk was divided and I chose to dwell by the sea, while Olwë sailed for Aman and Elwë founded the kingdom of Doriath. Yet I am sure you are familiar with these tales, are you not?

\- I am, said Gil-Galad, nodding. Have you ever desired to leave Beleriand, lord Círdan? To head westward?

\- We have been warned, son, we cannot hope to reach the Undying Lands.

\- Yet do you not long to do so? insisted the child.

\- I do, admitted lord Círdan. But it is my fate to stay on this side of the world for the time being.

Even among Elves, lord Círdan was considered old, even though he lacked no vigor, nor did he display any sign of aging, like elder Men did. It was more something about the light in his eyes and the tone of his voice that made him venerable and the silver of his hair, despite being bright, did have an antique quality about it. And next to the wise shipwright, Gil-Galad felt his exasperation was like a silly tantrum, however he could not hide it long.

\- I want to stay in Beleriand, he burst, suddenly. I want to grow and inherit my father's kingdom, I want to fight Morgoth, I want to defeat him and I want...

His fists were clenched and he thought he had spoken like a fool, but a smile appeared on lord Círdan's face - for a while he seemed younger than he usually did.

\- Gil-Galad, your spirit is as much fiery as it is starlike, he said, putting a hand on the child's shoulder. Did not your father call you 'little fire'? I daresay you are not so little anymore, yet a fire you still are, and soon enough a great flame you shall be.

\- It seems this day will come too late.

\- Too late? repeated lord Círdan, frowning.

\- Too late for me to defend these havens.

\- It is a terrible foresight your are talking of, son, whispered lord Círdan. Let not the death of your father darken your whole life.

* * *

Alas, it was not long before Gil-Galad's foreboding was shared by lord Círdan, who had perhaps put too much trust in the forces of Nargothrond to stop the Orc attacks south of the Ered Wethrin. Orodreth was far from being as dauntless as his father or his uncles had been and Finrod's heir favored ambushes to battles on opened fields - that might have benefited his hidden realm, but it also left the Falas exposed for nothing could hold back the forces of Angband from roaming in southern Beleriand.

At the beginning of Fall, merely a year after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, armies of Orcs poured down on the havens, unexpectedly, and the first onslaught broke the gates and parts of the walls. Sentries had been killed before the alarm could be raised, and most of the Falathrim and those who had fled from Hithlum were slaughtered quickly as they desperately tried to flee to the boats. Gil-Galad had been near the docks when he had heard the uproar of the attack and the shouts and while his companions had exhorted him to jump on the nearest ship, he had instead dashed back towards the tower he dwelled in with lord Círdan's household. It had been a tough path to there, as confusion and terror had taken over the harbor, yet Gil-Galad thought only of his mother and of escaping with her. For once, his small size was of help, as he could easily slip through distraught crowd.

He eventually reached the courtyard and upon seeing how devastated it was, he understood the enemies had sacked it already and a chill run down his body as he stepped into the cloister, peering around.

Then Gil-Galad saw her, lying on the cold stone ground.

She was not alone, for many had been caught off guard, and at her feet he recognized Amathor who, by the look of it, had taken countless blows before falling - bringing along his fair share of Orcs. There were others too, and he knew them all, and there were her maids, and lord Carmon whose last instinct had been to wrap his arm around his daughter, to protect her. Yet it had been a vain gesture, for Gilmiel had died not long after her father had, a gaping wound on her chest attested she had been stabbed ruthlessly. Even then she remained beautiful, in Gil-Galad's eyes. It seemed she still was radiant, among corpses and havoc, and a pale halo encompassed her, her golden hair and her white dresses shone lightly. Had it not been for the blood, one might have believed she simply was sleeping as her facial expression was oddly peaceful, despite the fact that her last moments having been frightful.

But she would not wake up. And when Gil-Galad finally realized it, he was left in a state of utter horror.

\- Mother! he yelled. Moootheeer!

He meant to leap forward, to carry her body out of this inferno, however he felt someone was grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him away firmly.

\- We cannot linger here long, son...

It was lord Círdan whose grey eyes were filled with sorrow and already he was dragging the child away, hurriedly. Gil-Galad wanted to protest and he shook himself out of the shipwright's grip, set to rush back to the courtyard. But lord Círdan stopped him forthwith, seizing him with an unsuspected strength.

\- But... I cannot leave her behind... whined Gil-Galad, tears streaming down on his cheeks. I cannot abandon her... and Grandfather... and...

\- This first assault was nothing but a foretaste of what is coming on us very soon, said sternly the shipwright as they were climbing down stairs that lead to the docks. Orcs will completely tear down the walls, and with them countless wicked creatures will overrun the haven.

\- They will... my mother, she will...

\- She is gone, Gil-Galad, lord Círdan told him, as softly as he could. And all I can do to honor her memory is to keep you alive.

\- Thus... we shall flee? mumbled the child, completely stunned.

\- Since we cannot hope to defeat the armies of Angband, flight is perhaps the wisest option, was the shipwright's grim answer and it pained him greatly to say so.

Gil-Galad fell into a gloomy silence. Later, when he was safe on the ship, he could not even remember how he had gotten onto it, how lord Círdan and a handful of his mariners had found their way to the docks, while the remnants of the Falathrim forces had fought desperately to buy them time to sail away. The poor lad had merely managed to crouch on the stern from where he was watching the coast getting farther and farther - smoke rose from the harbor and the highest towers had been torn down during ferocious fights, for Balrogs had joined the battle. And as he remembered the brutal image of his dead mother, he wept hopelessly and his grief was such that he would shout and hit the boat's planks, in an attempt to soothe his despair.

When dusk neared, lord Círdan came to find Gil-Galad, at last. The shipwright had long hesitated to disturb the child's mourning, for he had wondered with dread what to tell a child who had just become an orphan, not to mention he himself felt quite stricken by the destruction of his lands and the loss of most of his household. Yet lord Círdan was genuinely fond of Gil-Galad and, his heart filled with pity, he kneeled down to embrace the lad.

\- Where are we heading to, lord Círdan? asked Gil-Galad, in a low voice.

\- South, to the Isle of Balar.

\- Is it a safe place?

\- It is far from Beleriand, and surrounded by the Belegaer, the realm of Ulmo, said lord Círdan. And do not forget that three mighty Elven kingdoms stand still, these are places the Enemy cannot reach.

Gil-Galad frowned, for he had been thinking a lot about the hidden realms.

\- Would my mother and I have not been better guarded in Doriath or in Gondolin? he said, rather briskly.

Lord Círdan winced.

\- Perhaps, son... he whispered. Perhaps I should have foreseen the fall of my havens would occur fast, after the defeat... I... forgive me, for I failed to save your mother...

Gil-Galad raised his head, staring at the shipwright. Weariness was all that he saw and somehow it brought him some comfort to know he was not alone to suffer.

\- I am sorry, lord Círdan, I cannot think straight anymore... It would be ungrateful of me to blame you for a tragedy that grieves you as much as I... I'm afraid it is but misery that makes me bitter...

\- You need not be sorry, dear Gil-Galad, said lord Círdan, stroking the child's hair. And mark my words, the Isle of Balar will be the safest of haven of all.

As the Moon rose, Gil-Galad found some rest in the shipwright's arms, but he dared not close his eyes. His mother was still all he could think of.

* * *

Of his years on the island of Balar, there was not much to be said. He grew tall, as he used to dream he would, back when height was his sole worry, and with every day that passed he became more alike his father. He was not aware of it himself, yet lord Círdan and the few Noldor who had managed to flee from the Falas often told him how striking his likeness to Fingon was, and they knew he considered it the most flattering compliment he could receive. Gil-Galad was also his mother's rightful heir - his cheeks would always be slightly round - and from her, and from her father, he had gotten a skill for crafts of all sorts. Under the guidance of lord Círdan, he had learned much about the lore of ships and had come to be quite a gifted sailor, and he was enamoured with the sea just like the Teleri were. He was ever eager to travel, however he limited himself to goings and comings to the havens of Sirion and never once he brought back good tidings from the continent.

Over the years, what Gil-Galad had deemed strong kingdoms were sacked one by one, crushed by Morgoth's increasing power. Nargothrond had been first, and the few survivors had told Glaurung, the Great Worm, had settled its lair in the caverns. Doriath soon followed and as hard as it was to believe it, its fall was more tragic than anything that was heard before. Lord Círdan was greatly afflicted to learn his kinsman, King Thingol, had been slain for a jewel - however beautiful this jewel had been - and that his wife, Melian, had fled to Aman, as it meant her girdle had been lifted, leaving Menegroth unprotected. However, the troops of Angband had had no need to attack Doriath to bring it down, for the sons of Fëanor committed the Second Kinslaying and incidentally helped Morgoth fortifying his dominion over Beleriand.

And the final blow came in 510, with the sack of Gondolin and the death of Turgon. It meant no Elven kingdoms remained and it also meant Gil-Galad had inherited the title of High-King of the Noldor, although his heirdom was reduced to almost nothing, for he did not even possess even the least of his parents' belongings.

\- I shall remind you your cousin, lady Idril, has escaped from Gondolin, with her husband and her son. And ... in fact, there is something your father has entrusted me with, long ago, when you came first to dwell with me in the Falas, confessed lord Círdan after Gil-Galad had sadly observed he was a King without a crown, without a land and without kin.

\- Is there?

\- I had hoped it would be lord Fingon himself, or perhaps lady Gilmiel, who would hand it over to you, yet this task behoves me in the end, said the shipwright.

\- Why have I never been told you owned such a precious item, lord Círdan? asked Gil-Galad who was sincerely surprised.

\- I had been instructed to give it to you on your hundredth birthday, had you not been reunited with your father by then. Though I presume it would be even more fitted as a gift for your crowning.

Gil-Galad's eyes sparkled with hopefulness.

\- I have asked for it to be delivered here, said lord Círdan, opening the room's door, for I have kept this chest well hidden on my ship ever since I was bid to keep it.

A chest! Gil-Galad had expected a ring, a sword, or a banner, yet it was an entire chest the mariners had brought, and he did not try to conceal his thrill upon discovering this marvelous present. Lord Círdan, smiling, slipped a small copper key in his palm before stepping back to let Gil-Galad enjoy wholly this moment.

His hands shook slightly when he lifted the chest lid and as soon as it was opened, old perfumes rose from it, bringing along images of the past. Cloaks, jackets, a mithril chainmail, gold and silver circlets, and a long bow had been his father's, while his mother had left him embroidered handkerchiefs, bedsheets, and a few shirts on which she had sewn bright stars. There was a small box, holding gems and pieces of jewelry, and he also found a packet of letters, those Fingon had sent his wife and his son during the years they had spent apart. With the tip of his fingers, Gil-Galad traced some of the last the words his father had written and as he came across the sentence 'I love you, my valiant son', tears gathered in his eyes.

There they were, his memories of them.

* * *

Gil-Galad was not exactly 'without kin' because Idril, Galadriel and the sons of Fëanor were still alive, but he had yet to meet the ladies and as for Maedhros and his brothers, they had turned once more into kinslayers. I suppose he felt lord Círdan truly was his only family, and later it was probably how he felt also about Elrond. But that's another story, completely.

What's so (not) fun about the _Silmarillion_ is that starting from the Nirnaeth Arnoediad the story is succession of tragedies and kingdoms falling, and there are barely any story that ends well (ok, we had been warned, it was all in the Doom of Mandos). But still I feel bad about making Gil-Galad an orphan so early in his life. The death of Fingon wasn't my doing, but I could have spared Gilmiel I suppose. But I always imagined Gil-Galad was an orphan, so...

Oh, and the epilogue will take place after the War of Wrath.


	23. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 **Y.S. 587**

Alone in his tent, Gil-Galad still marveled at the spear he had been given, running his fingers on its shaft. Aeglos he had called it, for its point shone in a pale light and he thought it was sharp enough to defend a whole kingdom. The war was over, yet he was glad he had come in possession of such a great weapon and even happier to have been taught how to use it properly. And he was quite gifted at it, they had said.

The Vanyar had long been a folk that had dwelled solely in tales, for Gil-Galad, and even then, aside from his mother and his cousin Idril, none had been able to provide him much information about the Fair Elves. But ever since they had landed in Beleriand, at the beginning of the War of Wrath, he had spent much time with them, fighting along their side, and it had been an unexpected opportunity for him to finally meet some of his mother's kin. And it was them, who were famous for their spears, who had gifted him with Aeglos, as a token of their encounter - for they had failed to convince Gil-Galad to go to Aman with them.

He had also met Finarfin, his grand-uncle, who lead the host of the Noldor, those who had not come to Beleriand, and It had been him who had almost persuaded Gil-Galad to sail West and seek the Undying Lands. Finarfin's words had filled his heart with dreams of a wonderful land, where his parents had been born and where most of his remaining family dwelled - he then understood this longing he had seen in his mother's eyes. But there were lord Círdan and many others, who had survived the War of the Wrath, and they would not leave Middle-Earth yet. There was also lady Galadriel, who had refused the safe return to Valinor straight away, and Gil-Galad had thought it had not been false pride from her part. And, at last, he, the High King, was offered the possibility of ruling on a whole new realm, was it not his duty to stay by his people?

His spear was not the only noteworthy present he had been offered, since the war was over. He had a new crown too, though he had not put it on thus far, and it was still resting in its case which he kept in the precious chest he had inherited from his parents. Gil-Galad had certainly not foreseen Celembribor, with whom he was second cousin, would turn out to be such a pleasant companion, for, like many others, he had become distrustful of the descendants of Fëanor since the kinslayings. However the two of them had instantly gotten along well, so well that the smith had already forged Gil-Galad forged a crown and it was a splendid piece work.

He meant to take it out of the chest, to admire it, but as he glanced one last time at his spear a small sound, a mere flutter, drew his attention. Gil-Galad turned around, thinking a squire had entered the tent to bring him some food - instead he found himself confronting an unannounced guest.

\- You... he breathed.

Gil-Galad, startled, dared not speak anymore. He could not help but take a few steps back, unsure of how he should behave. On one hand, he was facing a murderer - worst, a kinslayer -, on the other hand, his father's dearest friend was paying him a visit.

\- However unworthy I can be of showing up in front of you, Gil-Galad, I beg of you to grant me some of your time, said Maedhros, in a low and pleading voice.

He could say no more and he stood still, awaiting. Yet Gil-Galad still felt undecided as he stared intently at Maedhros. He was shocked to find him so unlike the tall redhead Elf he had greatly admired as a young child - had he not once thought he was the handsomest of the Eldar? Maedhros had become but a shadow of his former self, the one his mother had called 'The well-shaped', and his face was gaunt and his eyes darker than ever.

\- What has brought you here? asked Gil-Galad, softly.

He was not afraid of the Fëanorian, despite his grim appearance, but he hardly could be delighted either.

\- I wished to see you... to see his son...

\- You sought a mere look at me, then? exclaimed Gil-Galad, suspicious.

\- Truth is... I miss him, most cruelly, admitted Maedhros, running his hand across his face and his copper hair.

\- Did you not fear I might not be so well disposed toward you? Lord Cirdan and I have reached the havens of Sirion too late, however had we been there during the attack, you and I would have fought on opposite sides.

Gil-Galad's tone had been harsher than what he had meant, yet he still recalled too well the countless dead bodies of Elves that had fallen in an insane bloodshed. They had fled the armies of Morgoth only to be slain by those of their own folk and Gil-Galad had been utterly ashamed and appalled that a friend of his father - not just any friend, _his cousin and best friend_ \- had lead such a deadly strike on innocents.

\- You may loathe me... for all that I have done, you would not be wrong to do so.  
Maedhros let out a small sigh, bending down his head.

\- Have you not wondered what he would think of you, were he still alive? said Gil-Galad, his fists clenched, as he felt anger filled his heart. Would he not now despise the one he loved like a brother? Tell me, which one would have prevailed, in the end, your Oath or his friendship?

\- I cannot answer you, Gil-Galad, I cannot! cried Maedhros, his voice growing hoarse. Yet I loved him, you do know it, and his death has been a woe I shall not—

\- A woe that has turned you into a kinslayer?

\- I was a kinslayer even before I set a foot in Beleriand, had you not heard? said Maedhros, bitterly.

\- I also heard my father risked his life to rescue you when you had been chained up on the Thangorodrim, for he alone had not given up on you!

\- Gil-Galad, I—

\- You betrayed him!

And Gil-Galad, furious, threw himself on Maedhros, grabbing him by the collar.

\- He should not have saved a murderer! he yelled, his face barely an inch from the Fëanorian's. He should have let you hanging there!

Yet as much as he was angered, it never actually crossed his mind to harm his father's favorite cousin.

\- Your are his spitting image, Artanáro, whispered Maedhros who had not even tried to defend himself. You took after your mother in some aspects, but right now it does seem Fingon himself has gotten wroth...

Gil-Galad's eyes widened and his grasp on Maedhros lessened.

\- Is it true then that he and I are alike? he said, and it was no more to the kinslayer he spoke, but to his father's kinsman.

\- Have you ever doubted it?

\- You would know I scarcely spent any time with either of my parents.

Maedhros nodded, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

\- Whether you chose to believe me or not, I was greatly saddened upon the news of your mother's death, for she too was a friend of mine.

\- And she too would have been horrified by your behavior, said Gil-Galad, although there was no trace of animosity left in his voice.

He let go of Maedhros and the two of them stood close, still their gaze did not meet.

\- I cannot tarry here any longer, Artanáro.

The tent's light curtains blew in the wind, as Maedhros put his hood back on, and Gil-Galad caught a glimpse of a dark silhouette - no doubt that Maglor was waiting for his brother, outside.

\- So you did come only to have a look at me?

He sounded almost disappointed

\- Indeed. I also wished to recommend Elros and Elrond to you.

\- The sons of Eärendil and Elwing?

\- Your kinsmen, too.

\- Why would you—

\- It is farewell now, Artanáro, cut in Maedhros and, after a short hesitation, he raised his hand to stroke Gil-Galad's cheek, swiftly.

\- I hate you not, Russandol.

The words left Gil-Galad's mouth just as Maedhros was exiting the tent. Soon he and Maglor vanished into the night.

Once more, Gil-Galad was left alone to his thoughts. For a while he pondered over the fate of the sons of Fëanor - his heart was heavy, for he truly pitied them - and, as ever, his mind wandered back to the days both his parents were alive. He was long past wanting in vain for them to be back by his side, yet he still regarded this few years during which they had been a family as his happiest days and wondered often if he would know such bliss again.

He felt hopeful, though. Had not Darkness been defeated once and for all?

 **The End**

* * *

The Vanyar's favorite weapon was the spear and as it happened Gil-Galad was quite famous himself for using a spear, Aeglos (Icicle).

I don't know how realistic it is for Maedhros to show up like that before stealing a Silmaril, but these two had to meet once more. That's how I had figured it would end :) Also, I think I managed to name dropped most of the major Elves of the Second Age (sorry Celeborn, I forgot you).

* * *

Well, this is over.

It ended up being longer than I had planned (and so less consistent than what I had wish for!), but I really enjoyed this little adventure, even though most of the cast died.

 **I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read the story through, and those who favorited/followed it, and those who reviewed or sent me a pm. It does sound very generic, but I genuinely appreciate it :)  
**

I wasn't expecting to gain much interest and thought I was awfully slow at times, so I was surprised some of you kept coming back haha

(it's quite a thrill to click on the 'complete' button, but I think I won't resist editing a bit the story, I hate typos...)


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